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SIEGFRIED 









TO 

FRANK J. HERLIHY 














































' 































































































































































































































































































































The dragon unwound its tail, uprooting trees and spiraling 
to heaven in a terrible appeal to the gods for help 



n * 


SIEGFRIED 


By 

EDITH HEAL 

Illustrated by 
MILO WINTER 



THOMAS S. ROCKWELL COMPANY 
Chicago 
1930 








Copyright, 1930, by 

THOMAS S. ROCKWELL COMPANY 

CHICAGO 


OCT -6 

©CIA 291 


Printed in the United States of America 
by Wallace-11 omestead 


L 


ONG ago when stories were 


THE RADIANT HERO 
OF THE NORTH 


told in songs instead of books, the bards and minstrels 
sang of a great hero. But the minstrels were only 
human—some of them forgot parts of the story, others 
confused the names of the characters or the sequence 
of the events. And it was certain that each time the 
epic was sung, its adventures were made more glorious. 
Soon throughout all northern and central Europe, 
from the land of ice and fjords as far south as the 
Rhine country, this tale was made known—of a strong 
youth, golden-haired and beautiful, possessed of the 
courage that conquers all danger. Though there were 
countless variations of the life and deeds of the hero, 
the essence of his spirit was the same wherever the 
minstrels sang of him. He was a radiant figure among 
men. 

In the far north, he was called Sigurd, the son of the 
Volsungs. In the south, he was called Siegfried. 
Thus the differences in the story began at the very 
beginning, with his name and the name of his 
forefathers. 

Even if I had wished to take a single strong and 
logical version known as the true story of Siegfried, 
I could not have found it. Each land would have 


Vll 


claimed its story was the best—or the first—or the one 
that really happened. I knew that I must not take one 
interpretation and follow it alone. This would have 
been like listening to a single minstrel’s song when 
others, perhaps, were chanting richer lays, further 
reaching, more deeply poetic. The words of every 
bard must be heard. Those that echoed throughout 
the rugged halls of Hunnish chieftains; those that rang 
in the courts of kings. Singers of the rough popular 
ballads of German country-folk. Singers of mediaeval 
epics with their gorgeous array of knights and ladies. 
I would listen to scalds tell of primitive sagas, gloomy 
with unearthly motives and a persistent note of fate. 
In the halls of Viking chieftains would be heard the 
strange supernatural song of Norse mythology. 

From countless scenes, I would make my picture. 
From a gallery of figures, I would choose my charac¬ 
ters. Here, in a distant land, many years later, I would 
be another minstrel singing a song, following the 
privilege of those story-tellers of the past who left out 
parts of the legend that did not ring true, who chose 
names that were more musical or more familiar than 
the discarded ones, and enriched the material wherever 
they could. I knew if I did this there was little danger 
of losing any of the original force of the story. Any 
epic is like a fluid—endlessly changing its form but 
keeping its same color and substance no matter how 
it is shaped anew. 

Gradually the tremendous amount of material 
blended and melted together. It was as I had thought 

viii 


—Siegfried was always there in his bright role of 
glory, the dominant center of every version. I had 
but to choose the best each poet had achieved. To the 
Thidreck Saga of Scandinavia for the opening scenes 
of the story, to the old German ballad called Siegfried 
of the Horny Skin for the symbol of his strength, to the 
justly famous Nibelungenlied of central Europe for 
his life at the court of the Burgundians, to the grand 
and ancient Volsungasaga of the north for the dragon¬ 
slaying, to the Elder Edda with its folk and fairy lore 
of the Norse peoples for the array of the supernatural 
which was to move in a kind of gloaming and blue 
twilight through the book. 

I wanted the setting of the story to be some non¬ 
existent imaginary land that expressed the color and 
tenor of the epic in its entirety. Thus—there must 
not be cities named as they appear today on any map, 
and above all, the country of the Siegfried story must 
not be confined to any single region. So the map that 
appears on the inside cover of this book was drawn— 
with its realm called the Northlands, its Forest which 
the reader must believe is the greatest wood in the 
world, and the Rhinelands where a garden of roses 
blooms eternally. 

Similarly, the time for the story could have no rigid 
limits. From the north was taken the flair of the 
Viking Age, with its salty atmosphere of the cold 
North sea, its picturesque ships with their dragon 
prows, its battles on the heaths. The south gave a less 
primitive picture of a mediaeval world where luxury 

ix 


and fineness dominated. And the glamor of enchant¬ 
ment was sought in the realm of ancient times when 
gods dwelt in the heaven-mountains. 

There did not need to be a well-ordered plot any 
more than the life of man is well-ordered. The 
characters walk in slow pageant-like array toward 
their inevitable doom. The sounding of fate is on 
every page. The shadow of the Wanderer who or¬ 
dains all things follows Siegfried. The tree of 
Yggdrasil looms from the first page to the last. The 
curse of Andvari casts its spell. 

So Siegfried goes his way, marked by destiny. 
Sometimes it is supernatural—his horned skin, his 
sword Gram, his horse Greyfell. But whether he 
walks with dwarfs or kings, facing the fire of a dragon’s 
mouth or the flame of a Valkyrie’s hedge, moving 
among mist-children or ladies of the court, there is 
always a human element as well. The thing that sets 
him apart from other epic heroes is the radiant spirit 
no minstrel could forget. It did not matter who sang 
—a bard of Saxony or a scald of Norway, the words 
that told of Siegfried were always brave words: “His 
hair was golden-red and beautiful. His eyes were so 
keen that few could meet their glance or peer beneath 
the arching brows. His shoulders were as broad as 
those of two men, and his body perfecdy proportioned 
in height and breadth. And never was there fairer 
speech among men than that of the son of the 
Volsungs.” 


Edith Heal. 


CONTENTS 


I 

The Meeting in the Forest 

17 

II 

Siegfried 

24 

III 

Mimir's Teachings 

3 2 

IV 

Siegfried Is Told of a Quest 

46 

V 

The Horse Greyfell 

61 

VI 

The Last of the Volsungs 

73 

VII 

The World Outside 

84 

VIII 

The Court of Hjalprek 

100 

IX 

The Oath of a Volsung 

117 

X 

The Welding of the Sword Gram 

128 

XI 

Fafnir, the Dragon 

141 

XII 

The Children of the Mist 

160 

XIII 

Brynhild 

174 

XIV 

Brynhild and Siegfried 

188 

XV 

The Dream of Gudrun 

198 

XVI 

Siegfried Avenges His Father 

212 

XVII 

Siegfried Defies the Gods 

232 

XVIII 

Siegfried and Gunther Swear 



Brotherhood 

246 

XIX 

The Fight with the Saxons 

261 

XX 

The Mead of Grimhild 

2 75 

XXI 

The Norns of Yggdrasil 

295 

XXII 

The Wooing of Brynhild 

3°4 

XXIII 

The Return of Gunther 

322 

XXIV 

The Ring of Andvari 

332 

XXV 

The Hunt 

346 

XXVI 

The Death of Siegfried 

356 

XXVII 

The Death Fire 

363 

XXVIII 

North-O ver-T he-Se a 

368 


xi 






LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE DRAGON UNWOUND its tail, uprooting 
trees and spiraling to heaven in a terrible appeal to 
the gods for help frontispiece 

MIMIR LIFTED his blazing branch and waved it 
before the gentle eyes of the beast 28 

THE FISH SPOUTED FURIOUSLY and struc\ the 
water with his tail so that the splash nearly drowned 
Siegfried 42 

“THEN MY FATHER had a sword to leave me—like 
the other great heroes in saga and song?” 76 

“OR THE HAIR OF YOUR HEAD " said the leader 
as he rose to pull the visitor headlong through the 
window 106 

SHE STIRRED SO SLIGHTLY he could not be sure 
it was not the wind ruffling the pale green veils that 
covered her 188 

IN A CERTAIN PALE DAWN the fleet com¬ 
manded by Siegfried moved silently from the harbor 
like phantasms of the sea mist 220 

WHILE THE HEROES CHEERED, Gudrun stood 
before him with her face lifted prayerfully to his as 
if she worshipped in the presence of a god 290 

WHEN GUDRUN RETURNED with the gleaming 
gaud, Brynhild scarcely looked at it, for she knew 
the words were true 340 

UNSHEATHING HIS SWORD, he saw where the 
mark °f scarlet thread gleamed on the skin tunic 
Siegfried wore 360 

xiii 



SIEGFRIED 





zm 


HE forest lies at the world’s end 
and so great it is that all other forests are like thin woods 
beside it. Where the trees grow thickest, there is gloom 
like the darkest night, and even where the light seeps 
in, the air is as heavy and blue as smoke, f The roads 
from the world outside stop when they reach the forest, 
unable to pierce the wall of locked and intertwined 
beeches, f But once past the thorny barrier, there is a 
smooth lane that seems to flow off into the dusk like a 
silver stream. The road cuts through the trunks of giant 
oaks that bar its path and becomes a long tunnel wide 
enough for a chariot and pair of horses to pass through, 
f Farther on it narrows down to a footpath and begins 
to go in frenzied twistings. It passes damp marshes 
and caverns where dread fumes of sulphur linger in the 
air. Climbing a jagged rock, the bright light of day 
shines on it for a moment before it plunges down into 
a densely wooded hollow. There it leads to the heart 
of the gloom, where stands the greatest tree on earth, 
the ash of Yggdrasil—a high tree, ever green, with 
boughs that seem to spread over all the forest and limbs 
that reach to such incredible heights that men have 
shivered in awe, knowing the topmost branches must 
touch the very roof of heaven, f The long leaves droop 
to the ground, forming a shadowy cave. Few have 
seen the tree, for few have dared to follow the wild road 
leading to it. 





Chapter 


s 

u 


THE MEETING IN 
THE FOREST 


TRANGELY—at this mo¬ 
ment—two figures journey toward the ash from oppo¬ 
site ends of the great forest. 

One is the hunched dwarf Mimir, who lives at the 
foot of the ash in a rocky grotto. Within the cave is an 
immense forge made out of natural rock. The fire 
from the forge burns like a fire beneath a witch’s caul¬ 
dron and tales have been told of the marvels that have 
been wrought on Mimir’s anvil. Of the dwarf—little 
is known. He is said to possess the greatest knowledge 
among men, because he is master of the Well of Urd, 
a mysterious well of wisdom that lies at the foot of 
Yggdrasil’s ash. Mimir’s life is spent in the rocky 
grotto huddled over the scorching fires, as he burns the 
charcoal for his smithy. Sometimes he goes forth to 
the world that lies beyond the forest, but what his 
errands are no one can tell. That they are dark and 
unworthy, is certain. And yet this gnarled little figure 
has dined at the council halls of kings and has been 
summoned to teach the sons of kings everything from 
the writing of runes to the forging of a sword. 

Now he is making his way back to his smithy in 
the forest. He scurries through the dark tunnels 


17 


i8 


SIEGFRIED 


carved out of living trees. His curled shoes carry him 
from arch to arch in a series of scamperings and rushes. 
He has journeyed for many days and is in the state of 
terror that can only be felt by a dwarf. There are 
men who are afraid of their own thoughts, but surely 
none who jump at the sound of their own footsteps 
and cry aloud when their breathing startles them. 
Thus Mimir goes, his large head twisting anxiously 
from side to side. And his thoughts are fearful things 
as he mutters: “Fool that you are, Mimir—to ever 
travel this poisonous wood. Better the ‘Fee, Fi, Fo, 
Fum’ of the giants than such unearthly quiet.” 

He travels by night as well as day, for he is like a 
hunted thing afraid to rest. At last he enters that part 
of the forest where he is more at home. His eyes mark 
this boulder and that ledge as well-remembered signs. 
There is only one more ridge to climb before he will 
enter the glades that are shadowed by the branches of 
the great ash. He starts up the sharp incline in high 
spirits, but the sudden scream of some distant wild 
thing bring him to a trembling standstill. Everything 
is quiet again. He glances nervously about, and starts 
on. Then all at once the forest is alive with hidden 
chatterings. Ah—Mimir recognizes them. The wood 
creatures who scorn his fear are welcoming him back 
with taunts and raillery. The hunched dwarf begins 
to run through the winding corridors of trees like a 
swift earthy little beast while mischievous squirrels 
pelt him with twigs and nuts. Mimir puts his long 
bony fingers into his big ears that he may not hear the 


THE MEETING IN THE FOREST 19 

hissing, snarling animals as he flies on toward the 
refuge that lies beyond the hill. 

9 9 9 9 

In another part of the forest, the birds sing and the 
air is filled with a fragrance rich and strange. There 
is a pleasant quiet and a drowsy languor. The late 
afternoon sun sends spears of golden light into the 
glades. Against the quiet, the sound of the wild 
creatures is vivid and sharp. The squeal of a baby 
boar who is hungry—the gruff barking of the lively 
foxes—and high in the hidden branches, the nameless 
cooing and calling of the winged ones. Suddenly a 
startling sound emerges from these voices that belong 
to the forest—the loud merry laughter of a child. 

Days pass, and nearer and nearer the ash tree, the 
child’s laughter is heard. Sometimes it is accompanied 
by a chorus of singing birds; at other times by a low 
growling as gentle as a kitten’s purr. And so the time 
comes when the two who journey toward the heart 
of the forest stand at opposite ends of the glade beneath 
Yggdrasil’s ash, in sight of the tree but hidden from 
each other by the foliage. 

This is the moment Mimir has dreamed of for many 
days. This is the moment of bravery for Mimir—since 
nothing can harm him within sight of his home. The 
dwarf lifts his hunched shoulders and tries to stalk 
toward his grotto as he once saw a warrior march into 
battle. He remembers the words sung by a wandering 


20 


SIEGFRIED 


scald to describe a mighty hero. “Head high—eyes to 
the stars.” That is how Mimir will go. He points 
the sparse straggly hair of his beard to the sky, and his 
neck stretches out like the stem of an ugly toadstool. 
Ha-ha—a fine fellow, Mimir, with a brave heart! 

And then the unbelievable sound reached his ears— 
a peal of gentle human laughter that had no place in 
the forest. Mimir’s start of terror sent him off his bal¬ 
ance to a bed on the hard earth. What new magic 
this? Who comes with courage to laugh in this dark 
wood? Mimir lies, whimpering and shivering while 
the forest is alive with his chorus of mocking neighbors 
“Mi-mi-mi-rrrrrrrrrr,” the birds sing; “Cow-cow-cow- 
rrrrrrrrrrrd”, they seem to cry. 

Again the laughter, joyous and beautiful, echoes 
across the glade. There is the sound of light steps 
running over dry leaves, and a final shout of pure glee. 
At first, Mimir thinks that he cannot lift his head to 
see what miracle this is. Nay—he would rather die 
here in a cold heap than face this elusive one who 
comes where no human has ever come before. 

But something stirred in Mimir’s soul. He who 
had felt nothing for so long save fear and terror, felt 
now a searching curiosity. Half willingly, he lifted 
his bowed head and shook the matted hair from his 
eyes. He looked into the blue haze that lay before 
him and marveled at what he saw. There, holding to 
the branch of a thorny bush, stood a naked boy, regard¬ 
ing him with laughing, curious eyes. The child 
seemed bathed in the one shaft of sunlight in the whole 


THE MEETING IN THE FOREST 


21 


dark glade. He looked like a child who had lived in 
the sun always. His skin was ruddy brown and his 
wild mass of curls was the color of deep gold. 

Before the dwarf could find his voice to speak, he 
was again terrified into silence. From the shadows 
behind the child three romping bear-cubs came tumb¬ 
ling. Mimir saw them and raced like a mad thing 
for the nearest tree trunk. The bark tore his skin, 
and his veins stood out like cords as he climbed, but 
the growl of the baby bears spurred him on. He had 
no thought for the child he had left in danger. Not 
until he was safe on a high branch, hidden by leaves, 
did he dare to peer down at the scene below. 

The three cubs chased about. They tossed the 
naked boy to each other like a ball, and the child’s 
shouts of glee were the cries of a child having an excit¬ 
ing play. At last they rolled—the four of them—over 
and over on the mossy earth, hot and exhausted. 

Mimir watched the merrymakers as they lumbered 
out of sight. He longed to call to this strange intruder, 
but he dared not bring the child back lest the bears 
come also. Besides, Mimir had learned patience. He 
knew the Well of Urd would tell him all he wished to 
learn of the boy who had appeared so mysteriously 
in the forest. In the loneliness of night, he would 
search the dark waters of wisdom to find out what 
manner of child this was—what his name might be— 
how he had come to the wood. Certainly, if the sturdy 
beautiful boy were not born of the gods, he had sprung 
from the mightiest of men. 


22 


SIEGFRIED 


The dwarf slid down the trunk to earth. Bleeding 
and weary, he turned his eyes once more toward the 
ash tree looming above the forest. The last glim¬ 
mer of daylight vanished as he entered the dusky grove 
he had been seeking. He shivered with excitement, 
for as often as Mimir saw the tree of Yggdrasil, he was 
still awed by the mysteries surrounding it. He drew 
near the Well of Urd. Its dark oily waters thrilled 
him. In their depths lay the wisdom of the world. 
And the wisdom was Mimir’s for the reading. He 
dropped a leaf into the well and watched the enchanted 
waters coat it with a strange white film. He saw the 
two white swans that belonged to the waters, even as he 
did, floating there like petals fallen from some great 
flower. 

Mimir danced in the grotto. He laughed happily 
at the sight of the creatures dwelling in the limbs of 
Yggdrasil’s ash. These were the only creatures he 
did not fear: the black eagle sitting on the first cross¬ 
bough; the watchful hawk, Vedrfolnir, perched be¬ 
tween the eagle’s eyes; the impudent squirrel, Ratatosk, 
scampering up and down the furrowed trunk carrying 
words of envy between the eagle and Nidhog, a horrid 
worm dwelling beneath the roots. 

While in the hall beneath the trunk of the ash sat 
the three Norns spinning the threads of fate. Urd, 
the Past; Verdandi, the Present; Sculd, the Future, 
were they called and they were governed by no god, 
nor by Odin himself. They shaped the destinies of 
all men and the issues of life and death were in their 


THE MEETING IN THE FOREST 


23 


hands. Hovering there they listened to the voice of 
Mimir as they went on spinning an eternal doom. 

Yes,—later he would begin again his endless task of 
burning charcoal for the smithy. Later he would 
read the waters of wisdom. Now he must welcome 
his friends in the grotto. 

Mimir held out his skeleton hands to them and 
squeaked a greeting. But the eagle stared on through 
the gloom, and the squirrel Ratatosk did not even stop 
in his scamperings to turn and answer him. 


0iapter 
It 



SIEGFRIED 


>IMIR hurried over his 
tasks. The fires of charcoal were soon burning and 
the grotto near the ash tree glowed in the dusk like 
the mouth of a dragon. The dark little figure of the 
dwarf moved backward and forward in the red light. 
Those who watched saw him brew a steaming broth 
and drink it greedily. After a while he came out 
into the glade, and in the half-light of evening he 
was like some growth of the forest, grey and twisted 
and still. 

Never was the forest so alive with voices as in the 
long twilight before nightfall. The animals knew that 
this was their last chance to frolic and chatter until 
another day, for when blackness descended over the 
woods the wild ones crept into their holes and slept. 

Tonight the hidden voices had a new note. Mimir 
had come home, and the whisperers in the forest asked 
of one another: “What is he up to now—what new 
mischief has he planned?” 

News of the strange meeting between the dwarf and 
the child that the forest had harbored safely for many 
months spread into the farthest regions of the great 
wood. The creatures that had always mocked at Mimir 
came now to spy softly upon him. Through the grey 


24 


SIEGFRIED 


25 


aisles bathed in dusk, lumbered herds of ugly beasts. 
Nearer and nearer the glade sounded the procession of 
padded feet. The bears, who had played with the boy 
as if he were one of their own cubs, came. And swiftly 
through the thickets sprang the lovely hind who had 
found the baby crying in the forest and had taken him 
home to live with her own fawns. The whole world of 
animals moved toward the ash of Yggdrasil and 
Mimir’s home. Dumbly and blindly they came, for 
they knew not what Mimir might do to the child. But 
two things kept them from entering the glade itself— 
the flame of Mimir’s fires and the magic waters of the 
Well of Urd. 

And so, when the hunched figure of the dwarf 
approached at last the Well of Wisdom, hundreds of 
eyes watched him. The birds and the beasts hid in the 
great branches of Yggdrasil. They crouched behind 
the thorny bushes that bordered the opening beneath 
the tree. From every thicket they peered at Mimir. 

Breathlessly Mimir watched the waters of his well 
recoil and whirl, and the forest creatures watched with 
him. But all they saw was the dark slippery hole in 
the center of the pool where the water was sucked down 
and the two white swans floating aimlessly like fallen 
petals. The wisdom in the well was kept for the 
dwarf who owned it. 

Now before the eyes of all who had mocked at 
him, Mimir seemed to expand and grow. Standing 
at the edge of the dark waters, his malignant figure 
was transformed into a swaying, gesticulating menace. 


7.6 


SIEGFRIED 


All the cohorts of wild things shrank back further into 
the thickets—bewildered and fearful. Mimir—whom 
they had always frightened—had become a power to 
frighten them. And the only animals who dared to 
jeer at the dwarf were Ratatosk and the worm, Nidhog. 

“What wisdom do you seek, water demon? Is it 
that your head is empty again of sense and must be 
stocked up like a bare cupboard ?” mocked the squirrel 
from the branches of Yggdrasil’s ash. 

“Nay—he seeks but his own reflection—the beau¬ 
tiful gnome,” chuckled Nidhog. 

“A-ha!—a new Narcissus searching for his golden 
image in every pool!” 

Mimir did not even lift his flashing eyes nor turn to 
rail at them for their sneers. Somewhere in that dark 
undulating well lay the secret of the mysterious child 
who roamed the forest without fear. Once the truth 
were learned, the dwarf would hold the intruder in 
his power. 

Suddenly the waters of the well began to hiss and 
boil. A strange light covered Mimir, and the animals 
shrank back into the bushes when they saw this. 
Muttering to himself, the dwarf leaned over the well 
and watched the living waters stir. From time to 
time he cried out—“Ha—then this is he! This is the 
child—and so he lives—and such shall be his end!” 

And those animals who for days had hidden the lost 
child in their caves that Mimir might not find him, 
drew together in their anxiety and growled their dis¬ 
tress. They, who had taught him the language of 


SIEGFRIED 


27 


beasts, cried forth their warnings to him now in that 
same language. 

“Little wandering one—stay away from this ugly 
gnome and his magic well.” 

“Hide away—hide away. Let your feet that make 
no noise go cautiously, your eyes that see in the dark, 
watch closely. Your ears that hear the very passing 
of the wind must guard you now from this evil one 
who is calling.” 

But the magic of the well was stronger than the will 
of the whole animal kingdom. All at once a white 
flame leaped from the waters and a voice like a bell 
was heard: 

“Siegfried is the name of the child—and only Mimir 
shall know him.” 

And as Mimir stood, a triumphant figure—listening 
—Siegfried came running toward him from the 
thickets. In the light of the white flame the boy stood, 
all naked—tossing the shining curls from his bewild¬ 
ered eyes. His mouth was smiling—for even though 
his body shook with excitement, there was no fear in 
his heart and he had learned that he must never cry. 
He faced the dwarf bravely. 

“Ah—a handsome one,” crooned Mimir, holding 
out his thin arms to the child. 

Then those forest creatures who lay hidden cried 
aloud in protest. Siegfried was their own—nourished 
by them—raised by them. He must not go to Mimir. 
But none of them dared to rush into the glade, for the 
fire and the well frightened them. 


28 


SIEGFRIED 


Again Mimir spoke—cajoling and pleading. So 
clever he was that for a moment the child wavered 
toward him, misled by the dwarfs crafty attempts to 
be kind. 

“Speak to me, Siegfried—that we may be friends,” 
said Mimir. 

The boy laughed gleefully and vaulted high into the 
air. The words of the dwarf amused him, for he 
did not understand the language of men. He mocked 
this strange speech, and Mimir saw that the child was 
like a wild little cub that knew only the speech of the 
wild things. 

He must be treated like a wild thing then. The 
dwarf ran into his grotto where the red charcoal fires 
burned. Seizing a blazing branch, he rushed toward 
Siegfried. The boy stood unflinchingly, his lips firmly 
pressed together. But now the cry of the beasts rose 
to a mighty wailing and snarling. And forth from 
the dark woods bounded the slim and beautiful hind 
who had mothered Siegfried. Straight toward the 
fire that she feared the hind ran. She knelt at the feet 
of the boy and licked him and tried to push him back 
into the safe groves of the forest. 

Even Mimir stopped for a moment, the blazing 
branch still in his hands. How great the love must 
be that Siegfried had called forth from the animals. 
The hind—most sensitive and timid of all the forest 
creatures—had dared to face the fire, the well, and 
Mimir with his weapon, that she might save Siegfried 
from harm. 



Mimir lifted his blazing branch and waved it before the 
gentle eyes of the beast 












SIEGFRIED 


29 


The dim shapes at the border of the glade quivered 
and the leaves of the thickets were stirred as the ani¬ 
mals watched the strange picture. They saw Siegfried 
push the hind gently away. They heard him cry in 
the language they had taught him: 

“Everything is fine—everything is all right. What 
a weak one I would be if I ran away from this little 
dwarf. Let me stay—and at night I will come to 
your caves and tell you all that I have learned. We 
will know the truth about Mimir.” 

The hind sprang toward Siegfried again in a frenzy 
of anxiety. Mimir lifted his blazing branch and 
waved it before the gentle eyes of the beast, but Sieg¬ 
fried snatched the fiery torch away in a storm of 
passion. At last—with a soft whimper—the hind 
bounded back into the dark woods—and the voices of 
the animals greeted her in a murmurous chorus. 

When night fell, the procession of beasts moved 
slowly away. The sound of their feet was like low 
thunder for they had forgotten caution in their sorrow 
at losing Siegfried. For a long time they mourned 
him in a high singsong whine, and never was the 
forest so terrible as that night when Siegfried went 
to Mimir. 

Back in the glade, the dwarf and the boy faced each 
other curiously. Mimir lifted the child to his lap and 
stroked his silky hair. He tried to rock backward and 
forward on the stump in a vain attempt to mother 
Siegfried. But the boy, instead of acting the part of a 
babe, kicked the rough stump with his strong heel, 


30 


SIEGFRIED 


wriggled from Mimir’s arms, and rolled over and 
over on the ground shouting with merriment. 

Mimir sat on the stump and sulked. It was useless 
for him to try to catch Siegfried. Every time the 
dwarf approached, the boy would run away. Fling¬ 
ing himself along the branches of a tree, he would hang 
carelessly upside down and swing over Mimir’s head. 
As the swaying branches cracked, the fearful dwarf 
would scurry to a place of safety, only to feel his new 
shelter creaking above his head when the swift-moving 
Siegfried appeared once more above him. This mad 
play went on for a long time, until Mimir was worn 
out with rage and weariness. 

All at once the boy became submissive. He ap¬ 
proached the dwarf, half-shyly, and allowed Mimir to 
dress him in a woolly goatskin. He began to repeat 
words that the dwarf used, and Mimir saw that he 
was learning the speech of men with amazing quick¬ 
ness. It was not for nothing that Siegfried had learned 
to imitate the fawns he had been raised with and the 
bears that had been his playmates. He found that 
Mimir’s speech was far easier than the language of the 
beasts, and on that first night with the dwarf he learned 
the names of many things. 

Once he leaped upon Mimir and began to tussle with 
him as he had tussled with the baby bears. But Mimir 
proved no playmate—the dwarf went down before 
Siegfried’s strong hands like the tenderest of saplings. 
And Siegfried saw that though he had been the weakest 
of all the animals—he was perhaps to be the strongest 


SIEGFRIED 


3* 


among this new kind of being. The thought filled 
him with pride and excitement and he rushed about 
the glade with his brown arms flung high and his 
red-gold curls tossing. 

At last, Mimir was able to put him to bed in a corner 
of the grotto, and the boy slept with only a passing 
thought for the animals he had left. Life had opened 
new doors for him that night, and excitement in Sieg¬ 
fried’s heart left no room for loneliness. Mimir did 
not sleep. He paced the rocky floor, and from time 
to time he stopped to peer with greedy eyes at the 
strong and beautiful child. In the dwarf’s mind dark 
thoughts were brooding—and already Siegfried was a 
part of them. 


Chapter A 


MIMIKS 

TEACHINGS 



T DAWN Siegfried 


awoke. He was conscious of something hot and heavy 
lying over him and instinctively his hands pushed it 
away. The cover had the hairy touch of an animal’s 
skin, but there was no animal inside it. The boy sat up 
with a start. Where was he ? What had happened to 
him? He knew by the strange blue haze that he was 
in a cavern of some kind. But it was not the familiar 
cave where the bears slept. Faintly the sounds of 
waking birds and beasts caught his ear—quails, 
nightingales and thrushes were calling; the she-wolf 
snarled at her young. Why was he not with them? 
What had led him to sleep in a damp cave instead of 
under the sky? 

A stirring near him, aroused the boy to caution. 
Noiselessly he crouched, ready to spring as the beasts 
had taught him to do in time of danger. The sound 
came again—the rattling of pots and a low grumble. 
At the same moment the terrifying gleam of fire lit the 
rocky walls of the cavern. In a flash Siegfried saw and 
remembered where he was. This was the home of 
Mimir the dwarf. That bent figure with a peak of 
hair like a horn was Mimir himself. Siegfried felt a 
wild impatience to be free. Watching the dwarf to 


32 


MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


33 


see that he did not turn and discover him, the boy crept 
silently from the cavern. 

Outside there was a faint mist and a cool greyness 
covered the woods. The dew was so heavy it lay like 
pools from a recent rain, and the air smelled moist and 
earthy. Siegfried’s feet sped over the wet spongy 
moss as he dashed from the grotto into the safety of the 
deep thickets. 

A hundred voices greeted him. From hidden places 
came the animals who had waited all night for Sieg¬ 
fried. The fawns that were Siegfried’s brothers leaped 
toward him. They licked him and rubbed against 
him. They welcomed him as if he had been far away 
from them and gone for many days instead of across 
a single night. 

Siegfried felt a strange impatience at the nervousness 
of the fawns. He could not understand his anger and 
he was ashamed. 

“Let us run far away so that Mimir cannot catch you 
again,” said the loving hind who had mothered him. 
“Climb on my back, for you cannot travel as swiftly 
on foot,” she said. 

But Siegfried felt as if he were rooted to the ground. 
His thoughts kept going back to that picture in the 
cavern—an ugly dwarf bending over his pots. 

“What does Mimir do at night?” questioned the 
eager cubs. 

“He sleeps,” said Siegfried. 

“Even as we do?” There was disappointment in 
the sound of their voices. They had visioned the 


34 


SIEGFRIED 


dwarf working his ways of enchantment after the 
night fell. 

‘‘Let us hurry off,” pleaded the gentle hind, inter- 
rupting their chatter. 

But Siegfried could not answer her, and made no 
move to follow her. He was confused and bewildered 
by his own thoughts. Why had he run away from 
Mimir’s cave if not to return to the animals who were 
his friends? And yet—now that he was here he did 
not want to stay. 

All at once the animals seemed to sense that some¬ 
thing was wrong. They stood like statues staring at 
Siegfried, and he could not meet their eyes. They 
questioned him mutely—and he did not want to 
answer. Perhaps the beasts understood, or perhaps 
they were too deeply hurt and dismayed to ask more 
of the boy that they loved. Slowly they turned from 
him and he heard only a soft sighing as they dis¬ 
appeared in the thick woods. 

For a long time, Siegfried stood where they had left 
him. He thought of Mimir. Mimir whom he had 
watched scuttle through the trees. Mimir whom he 
had been warned against ever since he could remember. 
Often he had pelted the dwarf with acorns from some 
tall oak—but never had he met the gnome face to face 
until that day when Mimir returned from the journey 
outside the woods. What was this wish to know the 
dwarf and stay with him in a damp cave? Siegfried 
puzzled over the problem and he was unhappy because 
he did not understand it and there was no one to 


MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


35 


help him. He decided at last to call upon the animals 
and ask them to explain this unfamiliar thing. 

He tossed his golden head as if to throw off the 
thoughts that worried him, and pursed his lips for 
the long call that the animals knew him by. Gayly he 
shouted—and waited for an answer. There was only 
the faint rustling of leaves in the trees. He called 
again—but once more there was no answer. Siegfried 
began to run toward the darkest part of the forest. 
He did not know where he was going. He called 
anxiously every few paces and rushed on. Something 
like panic filled him as the silence persisted. He for¬ 
got the training of all his years in the forest, and crashed 
noisily through the thickets. He ran as a boy and not 
as the child who had been reared with the delicate 
fawns. He reached the lowest hollow in the woods. 
It was a wild marshy spot with bushes like twisted 
snakes and thin trees that seemed to be lifting frantic 
hands to the sky. Siegfried stood with his eyes piercing 
the gloom and his ears alert for any sound. As he 
waited, with every part of him straining for some signal 
from the wild things, a loud song burst upon his ears. 
Even as he rejoiced—he was plunged again into be¬ 
wilderment. This song of a bird had suddenly become 
a song without meaning to his ears. The caroling rose 
to a mocking lilt and was still and Siegfried knew not 
what the bird had sung. 

What had he lost? He had chosen to stay with 
Mimir—and he could not have the animals as well. 
Then Siegfried knew that he wanted the fawns and the 


36 


SIEGFRIED 


cubs—the wild boars and the mischievous foxes—all 
the beasts of the forest. But, though he chased like a 
streak of light after the animals he had abandoned, he 
could not find them. Sometimes he thought he heard 
a growling or purring. There was a rustle among the 
bushes. There was a sound in a cave. But wherever 
he searched, he found nothing. 

At last the boy flung himself down on the ground. 
He knew now that what he had loved best was gone 
from him. All that day Siegfried wandered alone in 
the forest. Sometimes he heard the voices of the ani¬ 
mals and they were the voices of strangers. By night¬ 
fall, he had decided to return to Mimir’s cave. He 
would leave the forest and go out into the world beyond 
it. Only Mimir could show him the way. 

Back then—to that rocky cavern. Back to the tree 
of Yggdrasil and the Well of Wisdom. Siegfried 
walked toward them slowly. It was the middle of the 
night before he reached the glade. Scrambling up the 
trunk of the great ash, the boy slept in the crook of a 
bough until morning. 

He awoke to hear a loud groaning and sighing 
coming from Mimir’s cave. It was the dwarf coming 
to life for the day. 

“Ho-ho-ho-ho-Hmmmmmm-Shuuuuuu,” yawned 
the dwarf. 

Siegfried stayed hidden in the leaves of YggdrasiPs 
ash. After awhile Mimir came out of the cave, shiver¬ 
ing and rheumy-eyed. He was muttering to himself. 

“Where did he go to? How did he get away? He 


MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


37 


was mine, and now he has run away and I will never 
find him again. How can I search for him in the 
forest?” the dwarf ended with a moan. 

As Siegfried sat there, wondering how to attract 
Mimir’s attention, Ratatosk came scampering up the 
trunk of the tree with the dwarfs curled shoe in his 
mouth. Siegfried took the shoe and dropped it with 
a loud splash into Mimir’s well. 

“You bushy-tailed monkey,” shrieked Mimir, “wait 
until I catch you. I’ll bury your hoard of nuts in the 
bottomless depths of the well to keep company with 
my shoe.” 

“What are you talking about—I have not seen your 
shoe,” said Ratatosk, peering down at the furious 
dwarf. 

“Who else, then, but you?” cried Mimir. 

As a direct answer to his question, Siegfried jumped 
from the tree and landed lightly at Mimir’s feet. The 
dwarf stopped his complaint and stared wonderingly 
at the boy. He rubbed his eyes still full of sleep and 
stared again. Uttering a squeal of joy, he ran toward 
Siegfried with outstretched arms. But the boy shook 
him off as if he could not bear the touch of his cold 
hands. 

For several days the two watched each other cau¬ 
tiously. Sometimes Siegfried stared out into the dark 
woods as if he wondered what was happening there. 
Mimir listened for some sound of the animals and 
watched fearfully for their coming. But nothing dis¬ 
turbed the peacefulness of the glade. 


38 


SIEGFRIED 


Gradually Siegfried began to repeat words after 
Mimir, and soon they could speak together, for the 
mind of the boy was eager and Mimir was known as 
the most patient teacher of the northlands. The boy’s 
curiosity was boundless and soon Mimir began to train 
him in all ways, as if he were the child of a court instead 
of a half-tamed foundling of the forest. 

“Siegfried—every son of a king or a chieftain learns 
to excel in sports,” said Mimir. 

“And am I the son of a king?” Siegfried asked idly. 

Mimir caught his breath with fear. This was the 
one thing that Siegfried must not know. The cunning 
dwarf pretended the question had never been asked. 

“You must learn to swim,” he said. 

“And what, then, is ‘to swim’?” Siegfried demanded. 

Mimir, who feared the water almost as much as he 
feared the forest, led Siegfried timidly to the banks 
of the mighty river. The waters were cold and black 
and the river was filled with dangerous shoals. The 
stream was like a part of the faraway sea into which 
it flowed. Here on the bare clay banks Mimir told 
Siegfried of swimming. 

“There are certain exercises that all young men who 
are to live in glory must know,” said Mimir, “and they 
are called ‘idrottir.’ Swimming is one of the most 
important. Should the day come when you are old 
enough to sail the seas, you most certainly will battle 
on the water. There is great danger of your falling 
overboard, and your only chance to live is to keep above 
the water.” 


MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


39 


“But the fish live and they do not keep above the 
water,” said Siegfried. 

“That is different,” Mimir answered crossly, “to 
breath the water is to die, you had better remember 
that. There are men who can swim for leagues with 
their heavy armor on, and there are even men who can 
stand in the water with a companion on their shoulders. 
These things you must learn to do, for if ever we are 
thrown in the water together, Siegfried, you must be 
able to rescue your master as well as yourself.” 

Siegfried listened to this long lecture with a smile 
on his lips. Then he turned to Mimir and said, “You 
jump into the stream, Mimir—for I do not at all under¬ 
stand what you mean by this talk of swimming. Let 
me see you glide in the water as the fish does.” 

“Nay—nay—the only way to learn a thing is to 
plunge into it yourself,” said Mimir hurriedly. 

But Siegfried pretended he did not know what 
Mimir meant by swimming, until at last the dwarf 
was forced to lie down cautiously on the bank of the 
river and show him the motions of keeping afloat. 

“Go this way with your arms—and the opposite way 
with your legs,” murmured Mimir with his nose scrap¬ 
ing the wet clay. 

“Oh I see—like a slimy toad,” laughed Siegfried as 
he watched the vain efforts of the dwarf. 

“Nay—like a fish,” said Mimir. 

With that Siegfried laughed scornfully. “And what 
do you know of the fish, stupid dwarf. Come and I 
will show you a fish at close quarters.” 


4 o 


SIEGFRIED 


With a swift movement Siegfried tumbled Mimir 
from the side of the bank into the rushing waters. The 
dwarf sank like a heavy stone. Then Siegfried 
plunged in himself, and when Mimir came to the sur¬ 
face choking and sputtering and green with terror, 
Siegfried was beside him to reach out and grasp him. 
For a while the boy played with the dwarf—now 
thrusting him under the whirling waters—now lifting 
him up so that air could once more find its way into 
Mimir’s water-logged lungs. Finally he carried the 
quaking dwarf across the dark water to the opposite 
bank, crying: “Take note, master—watch! Is this 
what you call swimming?” Siegfried dumped his 
burden on the wet clay and dived joyously back into 
the stream again. 

Mimir, utterly exhausted, propped open one puffy 
eye with his finger. He saw Siegfried lying on the 
water with his arms folded beneath his head. The boy 
might have been lying on the sturdy foundations of the 
earth. He was chatting to Mimir as casually as if he 
stood beside him on dry land. 

“After I have rested I will summon a salmon or pike 
and we will race for you, silly dwarf. You who have 
told me all about swimming as if you know more of it 
than I know—bah!—we will show you what swim¬ 
ming can really be.” 

“Take me back,” said Mimir fretfully. “How can I 
ever reach my grotto again? There is no bridge over 
the stream. There is no way to get across.” 

“Swim across, to be sure,” teased Siegfried. 


MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


4i 


Siegfried floated down the stream with the current 
and Mimir was forced to stir his weary body and run 
along the bank to keep up with him. It was a strange 
spectacle—the boy drifting as easily as a leaf on the 
surface of the water, and Mimir staggering along the 
wet and slippery bank. 

Suddenly Siegfried felt the pull of the current 
stronger than before and he knew that he was ap¬ 
proaching the rapids of the river, dangerously full of 
shoals and swift whirlpools. He turned over and 
began to swim upstream again. He had buried his 
face in the water and had begun to plunge ahead, his 
arms churning a foam like the white mane of a gallop¬ 
ing horse—when he heard a piercing scream from 
Mimir. Lifting his head, he saw a fish of incredible 
size coming toward him from the shoals. It was twice 
as large as Siegfried and the biggest fish the boy had 
ever seen. It was round and thick, with shining fins 
on its back and a horizontal tail that slashed the waves. 
From time to time a stream of water spouted from it 
like the slender jet of a fountain. Siegfried knew that 
the race he had boasted he would swim had turned 
into a race for his life. This fish he did not recognize 
—perhaps it was a porpoise that had made its way up 
from the sea. He had heard tell of them. Whatever 
the fish—it meant no good here. 

Mimir covered his face with his hands and peered 
between his fingers at the wild scene. With a clamor 
of waters the monstrous fish charged up the stream. 
But ahead of him—spurting like a streak of light—was 


42 SIEGFRIED 

the shining body of Siegfried. The boy was making 
for the high rock that jutted up from the middle of 
the stream. If he tried to turn in toward the banks 
of the river, he knew that the porpoise would soon 
overtake him. 

The race was over in a moment. As Siegfried shot 
himself up from the water and caught a ledge of the 
rock, the fish spouted furiously and struck the water 
with his tail so that the splash reached the shore and 
nearly drowned Mimir. From the top of the rock 
Siegfried looked down upon the great creature. 

“Well, you have seen me race with a fish, Mimir. 
Do you think you will ever try to teach me to swim 
again?” 

“What a fish,” breathed Mimir, leaning forward 
intently to study the shape of the freakish monster. 
“It must be a porpoise that has come up from the sea 
—rarely have they ventured into rivers, but I have read 
in the writings of learned men that occasionally they 
have been seen.” 

“I shall have to jump to the bank,” said Siegfried 
measuring the distance with his eye. 

“Nay, nay—you will fall in and you have no longer 
the strength to outrace the fish,” cried Mimir. 

“Why should I fall,” laughed Siegfried, “have you 
not yourself told me stories of men who have jumped 
chasms thirty feet across. Watch me, Mimir, and 
you will have another story to tell.” 

The dwarf caught his breath as he saw Siegfried 
crouch with his arms outstretched in front of him. 



The fish spouted furiously and struc\ the water with his tail 
so that the splash nearly drowned Siegfried 







MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


43 


Backward and then forward again he swung them, as 
he gave a mighty spring through the air. He landed 
lightly on his two feet, a safe distance from the river. 

After a while the porpoise swam downstream again. 
He was off to the sea once more—perhaps with a 
strange story to tell to the fishes that swam in the deep. 
And Siegfried crossed the stream for the second time 
with Mimir upon his strong shoulders—a chastened 
Mimir who wondered at the skill of the boy. 

After that Mimir contented himself with the telling 
of great feats of strength rather than the teaching of 
them. He plundered the sagas of olden times for 
examples of great deeds. And Siegfried listened to 
stories of Ragnar Lodbrok, Hjalmar, Orvar Odd and 
others. 

One day the boy heard of Harald Gilli, dark-skinned 
and tall, the fleetest runner of the age. Mimir told 
how Harald raced with a horse to victory: 

“They galloped off and Harald followed the whole 
way at the shoulder of the horse and when they came 
to the end of the course men said of him that he had 
held to the strap of the saddle girth and that the horse 
had pulled him along.” 

“And was this true?” asked Siegfried with shining 
eyes. 

“No—it was not true, but again Harald raced that 
he might prove it,” said Mimir, “and again he won 
and this time those who watched said he had started 
before his horse.” 

“That wouldn’t be a fair race,” cried Siegfried. 


44 


SIEGFRIED 


“Patience, boy—those who watched had lied. 
Harald had not started ahead of the animal, but again 
he wished to prove it. For the third time he raced, 
and now someone mounted the horse and started to 
gallop it. After the horse had gone several paces, they 
called to Harald to run. And even this time he won, 
outrunning the horse that was so far in front of him at 
the start.” 

“And that is how I must run,” said the boy. 

“Yes, Siegfried—and you must be able to ride also, 
for there are times when a horse can run further than 
a man and there are distances that you will travel in 
your life that even one horse cannot travel unless he 
is a beast of great power.” 

Later that day Mimir came upon Siegfried in a vast 
meadow that lay between two groves in the forest. 
Here a herd of deer were resting. Mimir reached the 
field just in time to see Siegfried chasing the wildest 
buck of all the herd. As the animal reared and 
plunged, the boy seized him by the horns and drew 
himself over the beast’s head—somersaulting to an 
upright position on its back. There he sat, erect and 
laughing, one hand holding to the buck—the other 
waving to Mimir. The buck, unable to throw off his 
unwelcome rider, crashed through the brush to the 
road that ran past the meadow. Siegfried and his wild 
steed passed the cringing dwarf like the rushing on¬ 
slaught of a storm cloud. Mimir heard the hoofs 
thunder on the smooth road and it was not until many 
hours later that he heard the thundering hoofs again. 


MIMIR’S TEACHINGS 


45 


Siegfried had tired out the wild buck, and he had 
brought him back to the grove, a submissive and beaten 
thing. 

“He is worth nothing, Mimir. He is wearied after 
a little while. I must have a horse that will travel 
fleetly and tirelessly for many days at a time. Where 
can I find one? Where are the horses to be found 
that the warriors of your sagas ride?” 

“Out in the world, Siegfried, at the court of great 
kings and chieftains. Only fine men possess fine 
horses.” 

“But if I am to become a fine man, I must have a 
fine horse,” said Siegfried impatiently. 

Mimir nodded his head in agreement, “Yes,” he 
said, “be patient—you too will have a fine horse some 
day.” 

And soon Mimir saw that Siegfried needed no train¬ 
ing in most of the idrottir that the young men of the 
north had to learn. The boy jumped like a wild cat 
—he ran like a fawn—he climbed like a squirrel—he 
swam like a fish—he wrestled like a young cub. Living 
with the animals had taught him to see so keenly that 
the shooting of arrows was play for him. When he 
threw the spear, Mimir saw that he was as strong at 
his time of life as a warrior in his years of greatest 
strength. Above all Siegfried possessed the courage 
of one who has never known fear—and this was the 
gift that Mimir cherished in him beyond anything else. 


ChapterX T SIEGFRIEDIS 

I \| TOLD of A. QUES T 

JL m OW began days of work and 
study. No longer did Siegfried race and swim and 
play through all his waking hours. Mimir was a stern 
teacher and a hard taskmaster. Together they spent 
many hours in the smithy. The dwarf darted back and 
forth between the anvil and the forge, while Siegfried 
worked the great bellows until the flames leaped 
higher than himself. The boy loved the clang of the 
hammer on the anvil, and longed for that moment 
to come when the red sparks showered like chips 
from some heavenly meteor. Sometimes Mimir 
rushed from the cave to plunge a white-hot rod into 
the cool waters of the Well of Urd, and great waves 
of steam came hissing forth so that Nidhog the worm 
crawled into his hole and Ratatosk ran screaming up 
the ash. 

Mimir told Siegfried much of the craft of forging— 
but some things he withheld because he was jealous of 
his craft and did not wish anyone to equal him. The 
dwarf was clever enough to quote the good and none 
of the evil that men said of his kind. He did not 
speak of those who said scornfully that a smith loved 
wealth rather than birth and considered money as great 
as forefathers. He told rather of a fine old man of the 


46 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 


47 


northlands called Starkad who had said of smiths: “I 
judge those best who weld warrior’s swords and spears 
for the battle.” 

“Ah, but Mimir—would not the welding of beau¬ 
tiful things made out of gold be nobler?” said the 
young boy, “goblets and bracelets and splendid 
rings—” 

“Fie, Siegfried—do you not know that gold is the 
softest of metals and the easiest to cast. Starkad con¬ 
demns those who make things from it, saying that 
their hands are crushed with cowardice even though 
they may be skillful.” 

Then Siegfried hung his head in shame and he 
longed fiercely to know more than this ugly dwarf, so 
that he need not always learn from him. 

“Is then the steel of a sword a harder thing to work 
with?” asked the boy. 

“The blade of the sword is the hardest thing in the 
world to forge,” said Mimir, “for when it is done its 
strength is the strength of its maker. The temper of 
the blade shows the courage and the power of the 
hands that created it. And every smith on earth desires 
above all things to turn forth a sword from his anvil 
that is like ice and fire.” 

“And when, Mimir, may I learn to forge such a 
sword?” cried Siegfried. 

“Who are you to talk of swords,” scoffed Mimir, 
“when you still think that gold is a worthy metal? 
Bestir yourself—fan the fire,—sweep the hearth clean 
of wood; scatter the fine ashes; rouse the fallen 


4 8 


SIEGFRIED 


embers; draw out the smothered blaze,” taunted the 
dwarf. 

Siegfried pressed his lips together and was silent, but 
his heart was stormy and he was impatient that Mimir 
knew more than himself. 

At night by the flickering fire Mimir changed from 
an ugly dwarf to a singer of songs. He played upon 
a harp, and it was no wonder that the boy sat spell¬ 
bound. Mimir had played these same songs in the 
council halls of mighty chieftains. So great was his 
talent that he had swayed the feelings of all who 
listened to passions they had never dreamed they pos¬ 
sessed. He had filled their hearts with hatred as well 
as pity, with harshness as well as love. Thus he played 
to Siegfried, and when he was through he handed the 
harp to the boy. 

“How can I play it, Mimir—how can I make it 
speak as you do?” Siegfried cried with flaming cheeks. 

But Mimir was like an empty shell—drained of 
everything that he had given to the music. So Sieg¬ 
fried’s fingers fumbled without being told where to 
go—and yet he played with fire and with feeling, for 
the sound of Mimir’s playing was still singing in his 
ears. 

Mimir taught the boy the reading of runes, which 
are mystic writings carved on rocks or weapons or 
bones. This was so great a task that Siegfried hated 
it as a boy hates the study of books in the schoolroom. 

“Of course it is hard,” Mimir told him, “it is said 
that even the great Odin learned his runes weeping.” 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 


49 


“Weeping,” scoffed Siegfried, “that I shall never 
do—” and he plunged anew into the bewildering 
tracings. 

Mimir asked him the riddles that had puzzled the 
minds of the wisest men—and Siegfried laughed with 
delight when he heard the answers, and soon he began 
to guess some of them himself. 

“Listen, Siegfried, to this one,” said Mimir: 

“Who lives on high mountains? 

Who lives in deep dales? 

Who lives without breath? 

Who is never silent? f> 

“Ah—but I do not know, Mimir,” said Siegfried 
impatiently—“tell me, Mimir—tell me the answers.” 

“I will tell you the first two and you must tell me the 
last,” Mimir replied. 

“Ravens live on high mountains; 

Dew jails in deep dales ! 9 

Siegfried’s cheeks were scarlet and his eyes bright. 
What could be the answer to Mimir’s riddle? He 
thought hard. At last he said shyly, “I think I can tell 
the third, Mimir—but the fourth one I shall have to 
give up.” 

“Well—try the third one then,” said Mimir, for he 
was a patient teacher and knew that the boy must not 
be discouraged. 

“Fish live without breath in water,” cried Siegfried 
eagerly. 

“That is right,” said Mimir proudly, “and the 
sounding waterfall is never silent.” 


50 


SIEGFRIED 


“But of course/’ sighed the boy, “why couldn’t I 
have guessed that?” 

And now Mimir gave him harder riddles that he 
could not answer at all. But the boy was delighted 
with the answers and soon riddle-making became his 
favorite game, as it was the favorite pastime of the 
northmen during the long dark winter when they 
spent so many hours indoors. 

“Try this one, Siegfried.” 

'7 went from home, 

I traveled from home, 

I looked on the road of roads, 

Road was above, 

Road was beneath 

And road in every direction” 

This was indeed a marvelous riddle. Siegfried was 
so impatient for its answer that Mimir told it to him: 

“A bird flew above, 

A fish swam beneath, 

I walked on a bridge.” 

“M-mimir,” stuttered the boy in his excitement, “has 
anyone ever guessed a riddle as hard as that one?” 

“I have heard that same riddle guessed many times,” 
smiled Mimir, “and once a rich king offered a trading 
ship to the man who could make up another as clever.” 

“And did anyone succeed?” cried Siegfried. 

“Listen—and you shall hear the one that was found 
to be even better,” said Mimir. 

“Who are those two 
That have three eyes both?” 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 51 

Again Siegfried wrestled with a riddle too hard for 
him. Again he stamped his foot with impatience and 
begged for the answer. 

“It is Odin riding along on Sleipnir; he has one eye 
and his horse has two,” said Mimir. 

“Oh—! ” exclaimed Siegfried, “why has Odin only 
one eye, Mimir?” 

Then Mimir told Siegfried of Odin, the All-Father. 
How he had pledged his eye for a drink from Mimir’s 
well of wisdom that he might know all that the fates 
decreed for men, and how he was the greatest of the 
gods and could transform himself into any shape so 
that he might appear as fish or bird or beast or shadow 
when he passed by. 

Days passed and winter came. The way to Mimir’s 
haunt was along a cold road now, with frozen ridges to 
cross and rivers of ice to ford. And the north was a 
dismal land of frosty headlands and snow-swept fen- 
ways. Siegfried was taught to run on snow shoes and 
he traveled to remote parts of the forest over the heavy 
snow. He reached the high mountains rising above 
the woods, and ran nimbly up their slippery sides. He 
tried to reach their highest ledges, hoping to see what 
lay on the other side, but as soon as he neared the peaks 
where birds of prey circled he was beaten back by the 
sheer walls of rock so smooth that even the snow could 
not cling to them. Sadly the boy would start down 
again, passing wolf-haunted cliffs and caves. Fighting 
the hail-driven winds he would make his way back to 
the grotto in the forest. 


52 


SIEGFRIED 


When Mimir went forth, he rode a reindeer. One 
day he had harnessed his beast, and was busying him¬ 
self about the cave filling a great bag with food and 
clothing. 

“Where are you going?” Siegfried demanded. 

“On a journey,” Mimir answered hurriedly. 

“You are going to the world outside the forest—and 
you are going to take me with you,” cried the boy. 

“Not yet,” said Mimir with a smile, “you have 
neither horse nor sword. A fine figure you would 
make. People would say, ‘Who is this child you have 
brought along, Mimir?’ ” 

Siegfried was proud. He knew that he had no 
sword, that he had no steed, and that he was not yet 
tall enough to be received by kings. But he watched 
Mimir out of sight with angry eyes. 

For days the ground was covered with a hard coat 
of ice and a gnashing frost withered every green thing. 
But at last winter gave way to a spring of thunder and 
rain. The rime-covered forest returned to life again 
and Siegfried began dreaming of the endless summer 
days that would take the place of the long darkness of 
night. The earth became fragrant and the river began 
to swell and flow with a rushing sound. The forest 
was filled with the songs of spring. 

The night that Mimir came home, a fearful storm 
raged. Siegfried sat at the door of the cavern with the 
spray of the rain blowing in upon him. The thunder 
crashed through the forest and the lightning was like 
the white flame of Mimir’s well. Suddenly the road 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 


53 


was as bright as day, and Siegfried saw the driven 
figure of Mimir hurrying along. The dwarf was on 
foot. He stumbled and fell a dozen times before he 
reached the cave. 

“Well—so you have come back,” Siegfried said 
bitterly. 

Mimir ran like a drenched rat to the furthest corner 
of the cavern and buried his head beneath a furry skin. 

Siegfried sat with his heart filled with scorn for the 
cowardly dwarf. A fierce resentment surged through 
him. He called imperatively: 

“Mimir—come out of that hole or I shall drive you 
out with a stick.” 

The dwarf was so amazed at this change in Siegfried 
that he came forth trembling to see what it meant. 

“Sit down—there are words to be said, Mimir, and 
you shall not escape until you have heard them.” 

The fitful glare of the lightning came weirdly into 
the cave. As it flashed, Mimir saw that Siegfried was 
white with anger. His mouth was resolute and there 
was nothing childlike in his eyes. The dwarf shivered 
with fear. What new Siegfried was this? The brain 
of the stunted man whirled as he marshalled all his 
wits to meet him. 

“Mimir, there are questions that you will never 
answer for me. I have asked you again and again 
where I came from and who were my father and 
mother. You have answered from the hind that 
nourished me in the forest. I know that I am not like 
her fawns. I have seen that I am not like any animal 


54 


SIEGFRIED 


in the woods so I could not have been born of them. I 
know also that I could not have been born of a dwarf 
for I have seen how ugly and cowardly a dwarf is. 
Who am I, then, and from what manner of men did 
I come?” 

“I do not know,” said Mimir. 

Then Siegfried’s eyes flashed and his body trembled 
with rage. “Do not tell me that you are ignorant of 
this thing, Mimir. How many times have you boasted 
that the Well of Wisdom can teach you anything that 
you wish to know? You must have peered into its 
depths to learn of me.” 

“You speak as a child,” said Mimir, “of things that 
you do not understand.” 

For hours they fenced with words, but Siegfried was 
beaten from the start. Mimir had taught him all that 
he knew, and this poor learning was the only weapon 
with which the boy could battle against Mimir’s wits. 
Siegfried knew only the good things, for the dwarf had 
taught him by the laws of Odin. Mimir had said: 

“He who is never silent 
Speaks too many meaningless words ” 
so now Seigfried remained silent and the dwarf 
crushed him with argument. 

Mimir had said: 

“Silent and thoughtful 
Should a king's son be ” 

And now when Siegfried was still, he was outwitted. 
At last the boy turned to the dwarf and said almost 
pitifully: “Why then, Mimir, did you wish me to 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 


55 


belong to you? What am I good for? Am I to stay 
all of my life in this grotto?” 

Mimir glowed with pleasure and rubbed his hands 
together. This was the question he had long wished 
Siegfried to ask. For many months he had cherished 
a plan for the boy—but he had waited until the time 
was ripe for its telling. 

“No, Siegfried—you are not to live the life of a 
hermit in a forest inhabited only by animals. That is 
the fate of such as me. Your destiny is a more glorious 
one. You may dare the bravest deed and yet never 
fear to die. The three Norns spin the fate of every 
man. Only the doomed ones shall die, and never will 
they spell the doom of such a one as you.” 

“What are you saying, Mimir?” Siegfried’s voice 
interrupted sharply. 

“I am telling you that you may live life joyously and 
with contempt for all danger. Your summons to 
depart comes at the hour of fate. Chance rules the lives 
of men. Live gallantly and do not sit idly awaiting 
your doom,” said Mimir. 

“Yes—but what has all that to do with me?” said 
Siegfried impatiently. 

“Have you ever thought that you would like to be 
a hero?” Mimir asked. “Have you dreamed of your 
name and your deeds exalted in song and saga?” 

“Ah yes, Mimir, but a hero must fight with a gleam¬ 
ing sword and I have no sword. He must ride a swift 
steed and I have no horse. And most important of 
all, he must go on some dangerous quest that others 


5 6 


SIEGFRIED 


fear to try. I know of no quest that needs a hero,” said 
the boy passionately. 

“Listen, Siegfried, to a story I will tell you.” 

“I am tired of your stories, Mimir. You told me to 
learn your sagas so that when I became a great chief I 
would be able to tell them at feasts and around the fire 
on winter nights. Now I am afraid I will never be a 
chief. Come—let us play at chess and perhaps I will 
learn tonight that of two possible moves there is always 
one that is the best.” 

“No, you must hear one more story. It is a true story 
of a quest more terrible than any left on earth. Every 
hero in the northlands has known of it, and not one of 
them will dare to take it for his own.” 

“Mimir—you are mocking me,” Siegfried’s eyes 
were filled with desire, but he dared not believe what 
the dwarf said. 

“The tale I have to tell you,” Mimir said, “is of the 
curse of Andvari. There lived a dwarf called Andvari 
who dwelt in a waterfall and sometimes changed him¬ 
self into a pike that he might swim unnoticed in the 
river. He owned a great treasure and kept it hidden in 
a rocky hole near the river’s edge.” 

“What has all this to do with me?” cried Siegfried 
impatiently. 

“Hush—you are not listening to the story,” was all 
that Mimir answered. “We must leave the dwarf 
Andvari for a moment and turn to another part of this 
same happening. My father was named Hreidmar 
and he had three sons. The first son was Fafnir, the 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 57 

greatest of all of us, who could take what he wanted in 
this world because of his great strength. The second 
son was Otter who at night became a man and by day 
lived in the form of an otter who fished in the river. I 
was the third child—the least of my brothers because 
I was only a dwarf. All the strength I had was in my 
mind and the only skill I possessed was the working of 
iron and silver and gold.” 

“So even you had a father, Mimir—even a mean 
little dwarf has brothers. Some day I will find out 
who my father was! The cubs are the children of 
bears, the fawns are the children of the hind, Mimir is 
the son of Hreidmar—but who is Siegfried?” 

“Listen,” Mimir said patiently, “if you would hear 
my plan for you.” 

“Go on with your story, then,” said Siegfried, “but 
if it is one of your dark and ugly plans, you may well 
beware of me. I will have none of your cowardly 
ways.” 

“It so happened that Loki, a wicked God, killed my 
second brother as he swam in the river disguised as an 
otter,” Mimir continued. “And Hreidmar, my father, 
who was all powerful, demanded from Loki a blood 
ransom of this deed. Loki was to bring him enough 
red gold to fill the skin of the dead otter. Loki was 
clever and formed an easy plan to capture the treasure 
of another so that he would not have to give up any 
treasure of his own to my father.” 

“Andvari’s treasure,” interrupted Siegfried, carried 
away by the story in spite of himself. 


5 ® 


SIEGFRIED 


“Yes—you are clever, Siegfried. Loki took a net 
and caught Andvari the next time the dwarf turned 
himself into a pike. Andvari was told that he would 
die unless he gave up his treasure, so he led Loki into 
the hollow of the rock where the gold of his treasure 
was hidden. Loki took it all and started forth. As he 
left, he noticed that Andvari had kept out a certain 
gold ring and Loki demanded this from him also.” 

“The cursed ring,” cried Siegfried. 

“It was not cursed until that moment. But when 
Andvari saw that he could not keep even this trifle for 
himself, he flew into a fury and cried out that whoever 
should possess the ring would be accursed and die. 
Loki gave the ring and the treasure to my father, and 
Andvari’s curse began its work.” 

“Did your father die—did the ring really kill him?” 
Siegfried’s eyes were wide with excitement. 

“Yes, he was killed,” answered Mimir slowly, 
“killed by my brother Fafnir who wanted all things 
for himself. Fafnir was strong enough to murder his 
own father and take possession of the treasure.” 

“But the ring must have punished Fafnir for his 
deed,” said the boy. 

“No—not yet,” Mimir answered slyly. “There are 
none brave enough to kill Fafnir.” 

“What do you mean—he is only a man,” cried 
Siegfried. 

“No, Siegfried, my brother Fafnir was the cleverest 
of men. He took his treasure off to the far mountains 
where the Nibelungs live. They are the children of 


SIEGFRIED IS TOLD OF A QUEST 59 

the mist who dwell in the depths of the mountain and 
work all day with gold and precious jewels. Alberich, 
their king, teaches the Nibelungs ways of increasing 
Fafnir’s treasure.” 

“But where is Fafnir?” asked the boy. 

“Fafnir has turned himself into a terrible dragon so 
that he may guard the hoard. He lies across the mouth 
of the entrance to the mountain. He is the most fright¬ 
ful of all worms, and no one dares to approach him.” 

“An ugly story, Mimir,” said Siegfried thoughtfully. 

“And would you let so ugly a thing live on,” said 
Mimir slyly. 

“Then this is the quest, Mimir? This is the deed 
that is to make of me a hero?” The boy’s face was 
white with earnestness. 

“Kill Fafnir, and the gold is yours. Kill Fafnir, and 
my father is avenged. Slay the dragon, and you will 
have done what no other man on earth has dared to 
try,” answered Mimir. 

“Bah—I would not take the gold,” said Siegfried. 
“It shall be yours and the curse of Andvari will go to 
you next, Mimir. But gladly will I slay this dragon 
that none can vanquish.” 

“I am not afraid of the curse of the ring,” said 
Mimir, “it has not yet killed Fafnir, and besides what 
powers has the dwarf Andvari compared with those of 
mine?” 

“I must have a sword with a blade of ice and fire, and 
I must have a steed that rides like the wind,” cried 
Siegfried. 


6o 


SIEGFRIED 


“You shall have a sword,” answered Mimir, “a 
sword by my craft, and that same sword shall slay 
Fafnir.” 

“Will you finish it quickly so that I may be off with¬ 
out delay to the mountain where the dragon lives?” 

“If I am to make a sword mighty enough to slay 
Fafnir, I must work upon it for many days,” Mimir 
cautioned the eager boy. “Do not be impatient, Sieg¬ 
fried. Think how long I have waited to avenge the 
death of my father. It was not until I looked into your 
eyes that I knew that some day this might be so.” 

“Is the dragon so terrible, then, Mimir?” Siegfried 
whispered in awe. 

“The dragon has meant death to every man who has 
crossed his path,” answered Mimir. 

“Mimir—I must go at once upon this quest before 
another shall undertake it,” cried Siegfried impatiently. 

“Not yet, Siegfried. There is still some waiting 
before you reach the time of man. The moment for 
your going must be the ripe one, for you must not fail 
me in this quest.” 

Siegfried sighed, but he knew that Mimir was right. 
He was only a boy—without sword or steed to fight 
Fafnir. 


0iapter 

Y 



HE flame and the clang of 


THE 

HORSE GREYFELL 


Mimir’s forge lent an ominous air to the grotto from 
one day to the next. Restlessly Siegfried wandered off 
to the forest, and always came back to the grotto before 
he had traveled any distance. Mimir was at work upon 
the sword that was to kill Fafnir, and the boy could 
think of nothing else. 

“Be off, Siegfried, you disturb my labours,” whined 
Mimir, raking the ashes with nervous fingers. 

But Siegfried knew that the dwarf was trying to 
keep secret his manner of forging a sword. 

“I will not be off, cinder-blower. Let me help in the 
making of this blade, Mimir. You yourself have told 
me that the strength of a sword is the strength of its 
maker. What strength have you? How can I go 
away and leave you to twist and hammer and mold 
your weakness into the metal? It is a sword of sorrow 
you will make instead of a blade of glory. Teach me 
how to forge the weapon.” 

“You are speaking like a silly minstrel,” scoffed 
Mimir. 

So Siegfried seized the bellows and blew the flames 
until they were like tall red trees, and the glow of 
Mimir’s fires had never reached so far into the forest. 


61 


62 


SIEGFRIED 


The animals shrank further away from the glade, so 
that the dwarf and the boy were alone together. 

For days, Mimir put off the final tempering of the 
blade. He worked instead on the hilt of the sword, 
studding it with jewels from the dark earth and the 
mountain depths. Siegfried became fretful in his 
helplessness. 

“What do I care for show, Mimir—what good are 
golden trappings and jeweled designs? They will not 
bring the death blood from a dragon! ” 

But Mimir did not heed him. Painstakingly the 
dwarf carved runes of magic upon the hilt, believing 
that these charms would do more for Siegfried than the 
strength of the blade. 

“When can we plunge the steel into its final heat and 
temper it in the Well?” Siegfried asked again and 
again. 

Often Mimir would answer, “Perhaps tomorrow/’ 
but tomorrow came and the blade was no nearer done 
than before. 

While he waited, Siegfried dreamed of his sword. 
He compared it with those swords that Mimir had told 
him of in saga and song. He wondered if it would be 
strong enough, or like the weapon that a certain 
Thorolf gave to a man called Thorstein. Thorstein 
tested the sword. He caught its point and bent the 
blade between his hands until the point touched the 
guard. When he let it spring back it did not straighten 
again, and he knew it was weak and useless. Siegfried 
wondered if his sword would be bright like the sword 


THE HORSE GREYFELL 


6 3 


called Thegn that had been polished three times. He 
did not want his blade poisoned at the tip during its 
forging, for the tales that Mimir told of poisoned 
wounds seemed inglorious. He liked best the stories 
of heroes who died from deep wounds pierced by a 
sword’s clean point. 

The boy’s dream of a sword included all the beauty 
and fame of every sword he had ever heard about: the 
famous sword Tyrfing that belonged to the son of 
Odin and was said to cut down hosts of men like sap¬ 
lings: the sword Brynthvari with which Hraungvid 
fought in sixty battles and found at the end of that time 
his blade had never dulled; the sword Andgrvadil, 
taken from the slain Bjorn Blue-tooth, which victory 
always followed; and Dragvandil, and Leggbit with 
its guards of walrus tusk and a hilt covered with gold. 
Siegfried thought of his sword in the words that poets 
had used: as the gleam of the battle, the viper of the 
host, the thorn of the shields. He imagined it per¬ 
forming all the feats of the world’s most prodigious 
blades: cutting a silken scarf in two as it floated in the 
air; cleaving a warrior through helmet, breastplate and 
horse so that all were halved as they fell to the earth. 
And if there was a secret longing in the boy’s heart it 
was, perhaps, that instead of Mimir—who was only a 
dwarf—it might have been the great god Odin who 
was forging the sword, or that the weapon could have 
come down through a long line of sturdy forefathers 
as some of the great heirlooms in the sagas had done. 

At last Mimir called Siegfried to him and said: “To- 


6 4 


SIEGFRIED 


night we will temper the blade.” Siegfried was pale 
and tense when the time came for Mimir to plunge the 
white-hot sword into the Well of Urd. The steam 
clouds covered the two who watched. When the mist 
had cleared, Siegfried saw that even Mimir was ex¬ 
cited. He pulled at his matted beard and rubbed his 
hands together over the sword that lay on the ground. 
In a singsong voice he muttered strange incantations 
that Siegfried could not understand. 

It was almost beyond their endurance to wait until 
the time was ready for trying the powers of the blade. 
When Mimir brought forth the finished sword with 
loving hands and gave it to Siegfried, both thought 
that it was the most beautiful weapon in the world. 
The blue steel looked like the cold hard ice of the 
northlands and the gold and jeweled hilt was like sun 
upon flowers. 

“How do you like it?” Mimir cried, dancing with 
joy. 

Siegfried did not speak. He turned toward the anvil 
and smote the sword upon it with a fearful blow. And 
he heard the terrible tinkling of the broken pieces that 
fell on the rocky floor. 

Mimir uttered a single cry and fled to a dark corner 
of the cave. Siegfried hurled the broken shards into 
the dead ashes and flung the useless jeweled hilt 
through the open door into the dark pool of the Well 
of Wisdom. Then he strode silently from the grotto. 

For the first time in his life, Siegfried felt despair. 
He had neither sword nor steed, and the quest that 


THE HORSE GREYFELL 


65 


Mimir had told him of was farther away than before. 
How could he start forth on a perilous journey with 
nothing to aid him on his dangerous errand? As he 
stood brooding beneath a grove of trees, Siegfried saw 
a figure coming toward him. He stood motionless, 
wondering who could have come to the forest. As 
long as he had lived there, he had observed no passerby 
save Mimir and the animals. The figure drew closer 
and Siegfried saw that he was an old man of massive 
height who walked with bent head and shoulders. He 
wore a cloak of rich blue that swept in long folds to the 
ground and a hat with a great brim that cast his face in 
shadows. Siegfried thought that he had never seen 
such a beautiful flowing beard. 

“There is a strange unrest in your heart, Siegfried,” 
the old man said, and his voice was so low and at the 
same time so compelling that Siegfried forgot to marvel 
that this stranger had read his thoughts. 

“Who are you?” the boy breathed in wonder. 

“I am a Wanderer,” answered the old man. “I 
have come to lead you to a horse.” 

“How did you know that I desired a horse?” 

“There is much that I know,” said the Wanderer. 
“For one thing I can tell what the loud chattering 
sea-mew says—for another that a certain steed awaits 
such an owner as you. Follow me. I will lead you to 
the river called Busil-tarn. It is in a far part of the 
forest where you have never been,” said the old man. 

“I would travel all day and every night from moon 
to moon in search of a horse,” cried Siegfried. 


66 


SIEGFRIED 


They started without further words upon a mystify¬ 
ing journey. For an old man, the stranger walked with 
amazing speed. Siegfried ran the slow steady trot that 
the animals had taught him to use when there were 
many miles to be covered. The boy could not follow 
the turnings and twistings his leader took. He only 
knew that the forest changed before his eyes. Familiar 
landmarks disappeared. New ridges loomed in sight. 
Siegfried lost all track of time. The stranger had little 
to say to him, but the boy felt peaceful and happy when 
he was near the other. At last they reached the banks 
of a river that was like a continuous falls. There was 
not a spot as far as Siegfried could see that was not 
covered with white foam. A barrier of mist rose above 
the rapids and hovered in the air like steam from a 
giant cauldron. 

“Why, it isn’t a river!” the boy cried, “it is a great 
whirlpool.” 

“Come with me,” said the old man. 

Siegfried followed him over a rocky plateau. They 
found themselves in the folds of rugged hills. Far 
down in the hollow of a beautiful little valley rested a 
herd of horses. There were small chestnut mares, 
black colts and white stallions. There were chargers 
as strong and heavy as bucks. They raised their proud 
heads and stared at the intruders. 

And Siegfried saw the Wanderer lift his hand and 
at once the whole herd sped over the mountainside and 
down to the river—the long-legged colts, the gentle 
mares, and the stamping stallions. 


THE HORSE GREYFELL 67 

“Wait here/* said the old man as the last horse started 
toward the river bank. 

Siegfried stood with his eyes strained to the thrilling 
scene below. He saw the whole herd of horses plunge 
down the incline and gallop straight toward the roar¬ 
ing eddy that was called the river Bush-tarn. A few 
of the horses shied when they reached the banks; others 
tumbled in and were swept out of sight with the cur¬ 
rent. The strongest chargers battled with the foam 
and made their way back to the shore again. 

Siegfried groaned and hid his eyes at the sight of this 
terrible destruction, but the voice of the Wanderer said 
sternly: 

“Those who have died deserved to die for their 
weakness. If they had not perished here in this way, 
they would soon have been destroyed in some other 
fashion, for they are not strong enough to endure for 
bng.” 

“But what was it—what did it mean?” cried the boy 
passionately. 

“Look Siegfried—look down at the river now,” said 
the other. 

The boy lifted his head once more and saw that a 
single horse was still fighting the foam. It was a grey 
horse—the largest and most powerful of the chargers 
—with a head like a wild stag. Already the noble 
animal had reached midstream and was plunging on 
toward the opposite bank. Breathlessly Siegfried 
watched. Now the water rushed down in such swift 
and sheer volume that it pushed the horse under, and 


68 


SIEGFRIED 


for an agonizing moment it seemed as if he could not 
rise again. Now the horse’s head was buffeted back 
until the boy hid his eyes, believing the beast’s neck was 
broken. It was the greatest fight that Siegfried had 
ever seen, and when the grey horse reached the shore 
and stood there with the sun changing his glistening 
body to gold, the boy shivered in awe. The animal 
stood as motionless as the rocks that bordered the shore 
and it seemed as if he were carved from some nobler 
substance than the hills. 

“The horse comes from the kin of Sleipnir and he 
shall be yours until you die,” said the voice of the 
Wanderer. “Let him find your way and follow him 
with a trusting heart.” 

And in a flash Siegfried remembered that Sleipnir 
was Odin’s horse—had not the riddle said so—and he 
knew this old man in the blue cloak must be Odin 
himself. When he turned to meet the gaze of the 
Allfather, he found that Odin had vanished, and at the 
same moment he heard the loud clatter of horse’s hoofs 
as the herds beside the river disappeared from sight. 

As Siegfried stood, wonderingly, he saw the grey 
horse plunge back into the stream and swim easily 
across. When the beast reached the shore, he ran 
lightly up the slope and stood near Siegfried. The boy 
saw that, mysteriously, the horse was bridled and sad¬ 
dled, and he knew this too was the work of Odin. 

Gently Siegfried touched the quivering animal. He 
looked into the soft intelligent eyes, and it seemed to 
him that the horse’s gaze was friendly. Siegfried 


THE HORSE GREYFELL 69 

decided to call him Greyfell because of his satiny grey 
skin. 

At last the boy mounted the steed that was to be his 
own. Greyfell turned back toward that part of the 
forest where familiar glades were waiting. The boy 
felt himself carried like the wind over meadow and 
lea, through thickets and groves and lanes to the depths 
of the glades of Yggdrasil. 

Siegfried was radiant. The broken sword was for¬ 
gotten. The whole world centred about Greyfell—the 
steed descended from Odin’s horse and given to Sieg¬ 
fried by Odin. 

When Mimir heard the thud of horse’s hoofs, he 
rushed from his grotto, filled with foreboding. Com¬ 
ing toward him was a grey charger and riding the 
horse, as if their bodies were one, was Siegfried. The 
boy’s ruddy curls were wildly blown. He shouted and 
laughed, beside himself with joy. 

“Where did you get that horse?” Mimir whimpered. 

“From Odin himself,” cried Siegfried. 

The dwarf said nothing. He turned and went back 
to his cave with bent head and a fearful heart. What 
did all this mean? What interest could Odin have in 
a half-tamed forest child? Mimir shuddered, for he 
knew that his power over Siegfried would soon vanish 
if Odin took the boy into his care. What strange 
weaving of fate was this? 

After that, Mimir worked harder than ever upon a 
second sword that he was making for Siegfried. From 
time to time he reminded the boy of the quest for 


SIEGFRIED 


70 

Fafnir’s gold. He described the worm in frightful 
words, saying slyly that there lived no man who dared 
to approach the dragon. But Siegfried tossed his head 
impatiently and told Mimir to hurry with the forging 
of the new sword. Until he had a weapon, he could 
not start upon a quest. 

While the dwarf slaved at the forge, Siegfried rode 
many miles upon Greyfell. Sometimes the animals of 
the forest gathered around the boy when he stopped to 
let Greyfell drink from the river or eat the luxuriant 
grass in the meadows. They seemed to rejoice because 
Siegfried had a friend that was of their own kind. 

Horse and rider understood each other well. If the 
way was steep, Greyfell went cautiously so that he 
would not plunge Siegfried down the precipices. But 
if the way was clear, the horse sped nimbly along, 
knowing that his rider loved the clean sweep of the 
wind in his face and the thrilling movement of the 
animal beneath him. 

Mimir was jealous and resentful. Although he was 
glad that Siegfried had a steed for his quest, it enraged 
him to have this steed the gift of Odin. So the hate and 
the envy of Mimir went into the forging of the new 
sword and as it grew it seemed more terrible than the 
last sword that had been merely beautiful. This time, 
Mimir left the handle bare of runes and jewels and 
gold. He worked solely upon the blade. 

Once more, Siegfried was impatient for the day of 
the sword’s testing. Finally Mimir had given the 
handle its final heat, and turning to Siegfried he said: 


THE HORSE GREYFELL 71 

“I will not dip it in the well to cool it. Get me 
enough blood from some animal to cover the blade and 
I will have the true death temper.” 

“No—I will not take the blood of my friends for the 
sword,” said Siegfried, “but you may cup me and take 
my blood for it, Mimir.” 

Before Siegfried could stop him, Mimir had opened 
a vein in his own arm and was bathing the blade in his 
dark blood. The dwarf feared to take the blood of 
Siegfried lest it weaken the boy in some subtle way. 

“Now that the sword has your blood in its veins, I 
know what to expect of it,” cried Siegfried bitterly. 

“And this is your gratitude?” whined Mimir. 

When the time came for the testing of the blade, the 
boy hurled it against the rocky wall of the cavern. 
Half-heartedly his eyes watched to see what would 
happen. He did not even cry out when the blade shat¬ 
tered. It was Mimir who raged and sobbed, until 
Siegfried said almost pityingly: 

“Mimir, know now—you can never forge a sword 
that is strong enough for Siegfried. There is neither 
courage nor goodness in you, and a sword is but the 
reflection of the man who makes it.” 

“Thankless cub,” cried Mimir, “is this my reward 
for all the pains and labors I have spent for you? Some 
day you will thank me for telling you of the quest that 
will make of you a hero,” screamed the dwarf. 

Siegfried turned and left the cave. He stalked the 
forest glades, blind to his surroundings. Once more 
—despair. How could he slay Fafnir when he had no 


7 2 


SIEGFRIED 


sword? What faith could he have in his own courage 
if he did not know whether his father had had courage 
before him? As the boy paced wearily along, he heard 
the thud of Greyfell’s hoofs and soon the horse rubbed 
against him lovingly. Siegfried hid his head in the 
silky grey mane. After a while he jumped on Grey- 
fell’s back and let the horse take him where he willed. 


Chapter 

si 


T 


THE LAST 
OFTHEVOLSUNGS 


HEY galloped on wind-driven 


nights and they traveled throughout the long wet 
spring, and Siegfried’s thoughts were wilder and 
drearier than the rainy winds. Greyfell turned toward 
the untrodden ways of the giant forest. They skirted 
the edge of bleak fjords and lonely coasts. For the first 
time, Siegfried saw the sea stretching before him like 
a grey flat plain. He looked at it from a bare mountain 
top many miles inland. The sea yawned widely and 
the waters were so vast they could not be diminished 
even by the distance. Siegfried was not disappointed 
in what he saw. It was a wild sea for Viking ships 
to conquer. He looked at distant coves and stretches 
of wet sand lying desolate. 

And so the days passed and summer came gently to 
the northlands. The scenes changed to more peaceful 
ones. The horse and rider wandered again toward the 
green hollows of the woods, passing small shallow 
ponds where white birds swam and colored flowers 
floated. There was a fountain that stood like a golden 
tree. And always the forest seemed more endless than 
before. Siegfried would think that he had escaped it, 
finding himself on a barren plain. But the plain was 
always bordered by trees, and when Greyfell reached 


73 


74 


SIEGFRIED 


the grove they would find themselves in another part 
of the deep wood, surrounded by the pines again. 

Siegfried had drifted far away from thoughts of 
Mimir and of Fafnir. The story of. the quest was only 
a story now, and the forging of a sword had ceased to 
be even a dream. The boy might have been swept 
back to a life with the animals if it had not been for 
Greyfell. One night they came to the cave of the bears, 
and the joy of the cubs at the sight of Siegfried touched 
him deeply. He made ready to spend the time until 
daybreak with them, but when the bears pawed him 
lovingly, the grey charger tossed his head and neighed 
loudly. Greyfell’s distress led Siegfried to go on, and 
he never knew how nearly he had come to returning to 
his primitive untamed existence with the wild things. 

One day Siegfried looked up and saw the Wanderer 
striding toward him from a long way off. He was 
wrapped closely in his great blue mantle and his 
shoulders were bent as if the weight of the cloak were 
too much to bear. Siegfried galloped to meet Odin. 

The slow gaze of the Allfather scanned the boy 
who sat erect on his horse, and the old man nodded as 
if he were pleased at what he saw. 

“And what of Greyfell?” said Odin. 

“There has never been a steed like him,” boasted 
Siegfried joyfully. “He is tireless as the wind and the 
endlessly moving sea. And we are always of one mind. 
Should I desire to explore a highland, a dell, a spray- 
drenched beach, a combe, a ness, Greyfell has had the 
desire first and leads me there straightway.” 


THE LAST OF THE VOLSUNGS 


75 


“And what of Mimir?” asked Odin. 

“The last I saw of Mimir he was cowering in a 
corner, bemoaning the fact that you had given me a 
horse. I think that perhaps he was afraid/’ laughed 
Siegfried. 

“So Mimir is frightened again,” said the old man 
grimly. 

“Why have you come this way,” said Siegfried— 
“could it have been—to find me?” he added shyly. 

“I have come to tell you the story of a weapon that is 
waiting for you,” said Odin. 

Siegfried threw himself down on the grass at the 
Wanderer’s feet. Stretching there like a lithe young 
animal, he listened to the brooding voice of the old 
man. The boy could not keep his eyes from the face 
of the Allfather—he studied the furrows in the mighty 
brow. He shivered at the sight of the single eye that 
glowed one moment and the next dulled like a burned- 
out coal. The mouth was a single line that drooped at 
the corners, giving an expression of infinite weariness. 
Sometimes when Odin was still, his face seemed carved 
out of rock, it was so massive and sternly marked with 
hollows and planes. The bushy brows and long flow¬ 
ing beard were a part of the magnificence of that 
mighty head. The only other image of man that Sieg¬ 
fried had ever seen was Mimir, the twisted and ugly. It 
was no wonder that the boy was stirred by the god’s 
marvelous visage. 

“You found me a horse,” said the boy with glowing 
eyes, “can it be that you will find me a sword as well?” 


76 


SIEGFRIED 


Odin smiled at Siegfried’s eagerness. It was the first 
time the boy had seen the Wanderer lose his brooding 
sterness. The gentleness of the smile touched Sieg¬ 
fried. He had never known tenderness and now he 
felt its nearness. 

“The sword of your father is waiting for you, 
Siegfried.” 

“My father!” the boy sprang to his feet and stood 
white and trembling before Odin. “Who was my 
father? Do you know? Mimir has made me think 
that I had no father or at least that he has perished long 
since and none can tell what manner of man he was.” 

“The time has come for you to hear the story of the 
mighty line of heroes who were called the Volsungs, of 
your father who was the most glorious of them all, and 
of the sword Gram.” 

“Then my father had a sword to leave to me—like 
the other great heroes in saga and song?” Siegfried 
cried. “But what is it all? I cannot understand. I do 
not know who these men were that you call Volsungs.” 

Odin spoke quietly to the excited boy. “Lean 
against the trunk of that tree yonder, Siegfried. Pre¬ 
pare to hear the long story of your birth. I will tell it 
as simply as I can, and you must ask me any questions 
that you wish.” 

“I will,” answered Siegfried as he obeyed. 

“Mimir has recounted many sagas to you and rightly 
have you noted that every hero of fame has sprung 
from some noble line. The greatest family of the 
northlands was called Volsung and you are the last of 



“Then my father had a sword to leave me — li\e the other 
great heroes in saga and song? ,} 





























































































































































































































































* 





























































































































































































































































































































































THE LAST OF THE VOLSUNGS 


77 


the line. Your grandfather lived in a rugged hall far 
over the icy sea. He was a man of great strength, 
primitive and stern. That was the kind of house he 
chose to live in. Hewed trees were its walls and the 
roof-tree of the great central council hall was a thick, 
gnarled oak called Branstock, whose trunk grew up 
through the middle of the room. Beneath its branches, 
your grandfather sat upon his throne. There were no 
garlands of silver and gold in this hall; war-like shields 
lined the walls. Your grandfather followed his simple 
and stern tastes. He willed that his house should be as 
he was himself, rugged and strong. And yet it was 
none the less the palace of a king. There were stables 
of reindeer and horses. There were many portals and 
pillar posts that belonged to the Volsungs, for the 
houses of the north were built in rows, each house a 
separate room, and many were the rooms that your 
grandfather possessed. On his vast estates were cattle 
and sheep. He owned some forest-land and a strange 
spring whose vapour changed everything it touched to 
stone. Near the central hall a rock-road led to the sea 
where ice floes passed like ghostly ships, filling the air 
with a deep roar—the more terrible because it was 
voiceless. This was the home of the Volsungs.” 

“My father lived there too?” asked Siegfried. 

“Yes—among the many children of the Volsung 
king—Siegmund, your father, stood forth. I had 
watched the boy with great joy. He was somewhat 
like yourself, Siegfried—tall, and brown as a nut, with 
hair of ruddy gold. He was impatient for adventure, 


78 


SIEGFRIED 


even as you are aching for some quest at this very 
moment. As again and again the lad proved himself 
worthy of the faith I had in him, I began to cherish 
him with a certain love that I had never felt for a man 
of earthly descent. There came a moment when I vis¬ 
ioned the suffering and hardships that confronted him, 
and I wished him to have a sword worthy of himself 
and the danger he was to meet.” 

“A sword of your own making?” cried the boy. 

Odin smiled, “I did not forge it upon an anvil, Sieg¬ 
fried. I thought of the sword as I would like it to be, 
and it lay there before me. I took it in my hands and 
caressed its cold blade and called it Gram, which is the 
word meaning all that is full of wrath. Then traveling 
to the hall of the Volsungs, disguised as you see me 
now, I strode in upon a merry feast that was going 
forward there.” 

“Were there many brave heroes present?” asked 
Siegfried eagerly. 

“Yes, the hall was thick with smoke and loud with 
mirth. I saw the Earl of Siggeir, the Goth, there, and 
I saw Dal the Fat, and Knut the Fair. I saw the sons 
of the Volsung line and the gayest and roughest of all 
of them was young Siegmund who was to become your 
father. I strode straight to the rugged trunk of the 
tree called Branstock. I struck the sword Gram into 
the heart of the tree with a mighty blow, and I knew 
that none but young Siegmund would have the 
strength to draw this sword out again.” 

“And did my father perform this mighty feat?” 


THE LAST OF THE VOLSUNGS 


79 


whispered the boy, half fearful lest Odin would disap¬ 
point him in the answer. 

“Yes—Siegmund drew forth Gram, and Gram 
saved his life many times before he died.” 

“But what of my father’s father, the King of the 
Volsungs? What end was his?” said Siegfried. 

“The story is long and sad—you shall hear it some 
day from your mother who still lives. It is enough 
now to say that the tribes of the Goths were treacherous 
and slew all of the Volsungs. But in the first battle 
Siegmund alone escaped death and married Hjordis, a 
beautiful woman who is the foster-child of the good 
King Hjalprek. Hjordis’ own father was dead and 
she had lived a long time at Hjalprek’s court not far 
from this great forest. A child was born of this mar¬ 
riage and he was named Siegfried, the last of the 
Volsungs.” 

“And I am that child,” Siegfried said. 

“You wish to know more of the death of your father, 
and how you came to be a foundling in this forest?” 
said Odin gently. 

“Ah, but my mother could not have loved me if she 
did not want to keep me. The hind mothered her 
fawns and was fearful every time they strayed away,” 
the boy said bitterly. 

“Siegfried! ” Odin’s voice was cold and harsh. His 
lips were a thin line, without gentleness. “You would 
condemn before you know the truth. Like the accus¬ 
ing Mimir, you would willingly blame before you 
know the justice of your act.” 


8 o 


SIEGFRIED 


Siegfried hung his head. But he squared his 
shoulders and looked straight at the old man. “I am 
sorry,” he said, and he did not excuse his act with 
childish words. 

“Your father and Hjordis lived happily in the court 
of Hjalprek, until one day those same Goths who had 
wiped out the line of the Volsungs came to war upon 
the northmen. You were a baby in the arms of 
Hjordis and your father was that same glorious Sieg- 
mund who had pulled the sword Gram from the tree 
in the hall of the Volsungs. The battle was a terrible 
one, and Hjordis took you and ran to the edge of this 
same forest that we are in now. There she hid and 
watched the fighting of her husband, Siegmund. It 
was at that moment, Siegfried, the voice of fate was 
heard. One of the three Norns who govern all lives 
spoke the doom of Siegmund. It is the fates—not 
Odin—who cry men’s deaths. I could not disobey 
the word of the Norns, so I shattered the sword of 
Gram in two shards and Siegmund was mortally 
wounded by his enemy.” 

“Why did he have to die?” Siegfried cried resent¬ 
fully. 

“Hush—there are things that you have not yet 
learned. Every man is summoned to depart at the 
hour of fate. What beauty is there in living forever?” 
said Odin. “Have you not heard tell of gleaming 
Valhalla, the hall of the slain that is roofed with the 
silver shields of warriors who died in battle? There is 
where brave heroes go when they leave this earth. Its 


THE LAST OF THE VOLSUNGS 


seat is at Logafjoll. Overhead flash northern lights 
and forth from the glory high-helmeted girls rush 
riding, blotches of blood on their breastplates and fire 
dripping from the tips of their spears. These are the 
Valkyries. It is the wish of every warrior to go to 
Valhalla some day to the sound of their exultant cry, 
and so it was the wish of Siegmund and he was happy 
to die.” 

“I think that I understand/’ sighed the boy. 

“But when Hjordis saw her husband fall, she forgot 
everything in her fear for him. She wrapped you close 
in a blanket and hid you in the thickets of the forest. 
Then she sped out upon the battlefield to kneel at the 
side of her lord before he died.” 

“And was there yet time to speak with him before 
he left her?” said Siegfried. 

“Yes, there was time for Siegmund to comfort 
Hjordis as, aching with grief, she bent over him. He 
spoke to her of you, Siegfried, and that was her comfort 
when he died. He told her that a stronger Volsung 
than any of the other Volsung heroes lived still. He 
charged her to keep the shards of Gram so that the 
sword might be welded together again for this last one 
of the Volsungs. And Hjordis saw Siegmund die with 
a smile on his lips. She left him on the battlefield for 
she knew that he belonged to the Valkyries now. Even 
as she left him, she heard the rush of their terrible flight 
and she saw their mighty horses in a grey cloud and 
heard their glorious war-cry as they carried her lord to 
Valhalla: ‘Hojotoho! Hojotoho! Heiaha! Heiaha!’” 


82 


SIEGFRIED 


“And what happened to me?” asked the boy. 

Odin smiled whimsically. “Life was not to be easy 
for the last of the Volsungs. It had looked as if you 
were to be reared at the court of the good King 
Hjalprek much as any other young prince would have 
been raised. You would have had the best of teachers, 
and easiest of living and there would have been no 
hardships for you to bear. But the Norns who 
watched over you knew that such a life would weaken 
you. While your mother knelt at Siegmund’s side in 
farewell, a hind from the forest heard your cries and 
carried you off to her home. When Hjordis came back 
to you she found that you were gone. Her grief was 
great. All the courtiers from Hjalprek’s kingdom 
searched for you, but there is no human being who 
dares to trespass far into this wood. Men peered fear¬ 
fully about from the edges of the thickets, but no one 
penetrated into the heart of the gloom, and so you were 
never found.” 

“My mother still lives?” said the boy softly. 

“Yes, and so lives the great King Hjalprek just as he 
reigned when your father lived,” said Odin. “Greyfell 
will carry you to his court. You must go to your 
mother and tell her the story of Gram. She will know 
that you are her son when you tell her that Odin 
has sent you to her for the broken shards of the sword.” 

“Why have you done all this for me?” cried Sieg¬ 
fried. 

“You are the last of the Volsungs,” said Odin seri¬ 
ously, “this line of men has been thus far the noblest 


THE LAST OF THE VOLSUNGS 


83 


and the greatest in the north. Bitter have been the 
disappointments that the Norns have ordained for 
Volsung heroes, and terrible have been the sufferings 
of your father’s kin. Because you are a Volsung you 
must suffer as well. Your life will be struggle and 
bloodshed and heartache. But Odin is ever beside you 
and the silver Valhalla awaits you in its world of 
clouds.” 

The Wanderer was gone. Siegfried looked one 
moment and saw him—with the rich blue cloak, the 
staff and the wide-brimmed hat—looked the next 
moment and beheld only the peaceful vista of country¬ 
side and Greyfell pawing the earth impatiently. 

Siegfried felt his limbs tense with fatigue. He must 
have been listening for a long time. The story was 
engraved on his mind like the runes on a hard stone. 
The line of the Volsungs loomed—men with iron 
bodies and iron hearts, men of deeds and of tragedy. 
And Siegfried felt as he was certain the Volsungs had 
felt—and he understood them so well he knew that he 
was one of them. 

Racing to Greyfell, the boy mounted his horse joy¬ 
fully. He spurred him on. Let Greyfell go where he 
willed. Odin had said that the horse would lead its 
rider to the court of Hjalprek. Let Mimir, alone in the 
empty grotto, pace and wonder and cry. Not until 
Siegfried held the precious shards of the broken sword 
Gram would he come back to the smithy. 


Chapter A 


THE 

WORLD OUTSIDE 



S SOON as Siegfried felt 


the horse beneath him leap forward, a mysterious ex¬ 
hilaration surged through him. The blood pounded 
hotly in his veins and he knew for the first time the 
meaning of impatience that has become almost a sick¬ 
ness. Over and over he thought of the sword Gram— 
the meeting with his mother—the court of Hjalprek 
—the battlefield where Siegmund fell. This bewilder¬ 
ing confusion of scenes and pictures swept through the 
boy’s mind like events of some stirring saga, and the 
words of Odin seemed little more than a marvelous 
story. The saga of the Volsungs was even less real 
than Mimir’s tales. Impatiently Siegfried wondered 
when he would begin to live things for himself as his 
sturdy forefathers had done. 

The charger was galloping along a highroad that lay 
between the forest and the sea. He had lowered his 
head and settled into a steady pace. Siegfried studied 
the contours of the wood and decided that the court of 
Hjalprek must lie at the other extreme of the forest. 
Greyfell had chosen the route around the wood rather 
than cutting back through the familiar glades that 
Siegfried already knew. Then the horse, too, under¬ 
stood that Siegfried must see a little of the world of 


84 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


85 


men before he passed the porch pillars of his grand¬ 
father’s hall! 

Siegfried was blind to his surroundings. In the days 
that were gone, he had marvelled at the limitless ex¬ 
panses of the sea, the salty smell of the sea wind and 
the wet flat beach where Greyfell left the mark of 
his hoofs. Now it was time to think of Mimir’s stories 
of men—men and their deeds—men and their dwell¬ 
ings and ships and possessions. Siegfried tried to recall 
each detail of the dwarf’s descriptions. He dreaded 
the thought of entering Hjalprek’s court with ques¬ 
tions on his lips and questions in his eyes. Whatever 
he saw—no matter how startling—Siegfried vowed he 
would show no betrayal of his surprise. 

But even as he made these sturdy vows, he trembled 
with an exciting anticipation. And boyishly he won¬ 
dered—what a man was like or what a ship resembled. 
There were only the images of Mimir and of Odin 
for comparison and there were only the memories of 
logs floating down the river from which to envision a 
ship. Such things were in Siegfried’s mind as he rode 
along. 

At that moment Greyfell followed the road into a 
small thicket, for at this point the highway cut through 
the last straggling fringe of the mighty forest. As so 
often happens, this small copse was more dense than a 
deeper wood. The trees were arched closely and the 
tangled bushes grew over the road so that it disappeared 
from view. Greyfell slowed his pace, as only a few 
feet at a time were visible ahead. Suddenly voices from 


86 


SIEGFRIED 


beyond the next bend startled Siegfried from his reverie 
and he pulled Greyfell to a sharp halt. Dismounting 
quickly, he stole softly forward to peer at the unknown 
speakers. 

He saw a sight like nothing he had ever seen before. 
At the foot of a high bank were two horsemen—as 
different from each other as Mimir and Odin. In his 
fleeting glance, Siegfried saw that one rider was a thin 
wizened fellow with a sharp hawk-like face. His raw- 
boned figure was clasped closely in a coarse woolen 
mantle and his hairy legs were only partly covered by 
leggings made of colored cloth bound carelessly to¬ 
gether. His horse was as spare as its rider—a thin old 
mare, sore-backed and beaten. Even as Siegfried 
thought—“So this is what a man is like! ”—he turned 
to appraise the other horseman. Now this one was as 
fat as the other had been thin—as round and red and 
cheerful as the first was dried-up and forbidding. The 
portly rider wore a scarlet kirtle with a deep blue cloak 
over it and coming well down on his head was a bear¬ 
skin hood. He was mounted on a powerful white 
stallion with a painted, showy saddle. Each rider 
fingered his sword as he shouted at the other in anger. 
And most surprising of all, the voice of the small man 
was great and thunderous while the voice of the fat 
fellow rose in a thin wail! 

“I tell you that you owe me three of your best 
cows,” growled the thin man, “your animals wandered 
into my pastures and infected my good beasts with the 
murrain.” 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


87 


“Bah,” spluttered the portly landowner, “my good 
cattle are above reproach. It was your own beasts that 
had the plague and they have infected mine.” 

“A plague upon you, Roller,” said the small man 
sternly, “you cannot recognize the truth when you hear 
it. I will call a meeting of the moot who will judge 
you more harshly than myself. Come now—will you 
pay me back my three cattle?” 

“Let the murrain take you before I will,” screamed 
the other, his face turning so red that Siegfried half 
expected the blood to gush forth. 

“I will let you consider this debt for the period of 
time in which it takes me to count ten. Then I shall 
draw my sword,” announced the rider with the hawk¬ 
like face. 

“You had better watch out when it comes to sword¬ 
play,” cried the fat fellow with a fine show of bravado. 

“One—two,” was all the answer that he got. 

“Oft with a conquering hand have I bowed the 
necks of the mighty,” boasted the owner of the diseased 
cattle. 

“Three—four,” was the reply to his bragging. 

“If you do not stop that silly chattering, I will chase 
you,” the portly fellow took off his fur hat to fan him¬ 
self and Siegfried saw that his head was round and 
slippery with no hair growing upon it. 

“Five—six—seven—eight—” 

“Chase you I will, you varlet,” said the rider of the 
white stallion but Siegfried noticed that one pudgy 
hand was pinching the horse to be off in the other 


SIEGFRIED 


direction and one wide toe nudged the ribs of the beast 
to goad him into running away. What manner of 
chase was this, mused the boy, when he who threatened 
to do the chasing was trying his best to be off in the 
opposite direction from him whom he was going to 
attack? 

“Nine—ten!” with a clang the shrunken little man 
spurted his old mare forward and waved his long 
sword. 

The fat rider dropped all pretense of valor and 
kicked his horse violently in the ribs. The white 
stallion leaped forward and his portly master felt the 
reins wrenched from his fat hands. He dropped the 
fur cap that he still held and clutched frantically at 
the waving mane of the steed. Then Siegfried lightly 
vaulted a bush and flung himself upon the bridle of the 
run-away horse. The flight was effectively ended. 

“Now,” said the boy smiling at the furious and terri¬ 
fied rider, “you may meet your neighbor in sword-play. 
Let the battle go on.” 

“Whoever you may be?” choked the frightened 
run-away. 

“My name is Siegfried and what is yours?” 

“I am called Roller and yon varlet is a mean and 
stingy landowner whose estate joins mine. He is 
named Erik—a common enough name—every roof 
harbors one,” sniffed the speaker. 

At that moment Erik who had sat calmly on his 
piebald mare observing this unexpected scene, was 
reminded of his quarrel by his neighbor’s insulting 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


remarks regarding his name. He was known through¬ 
out the countryside as a man slow to anger, and one 
who would rather use threats than his fists. But now 
another threat would be useless, for this newcomer 
named Siegfried was present to see that battle was 
done. When Erik heard his name termed a common 
one, he reached the limit of his endurance. Carelessly 
he lifted his sword and unloosed a great clod of earth 
from a rocky hillock above Roller’s head. An earthy 
avalanche descended and a flurry of little stones pat¬ 
tered down upon the bare pate of the screaming Roller. 
But as Siegfried joined in Erik’s mocking laughter, he 
suddenly saw the eyes of the little man grow large with 
horror. Following his gaze, Siegfried saw that in 
unloosing the clod of earth, Erik had undermined a 
great boulder. The rock was slowly toppling and it 
was a matter of seconds before it would come down 
upon their heads. Siegfried jumped between the 
horses and the hillock with so quick a lunge that the 
animals reared back fearfully. Before Siegfried could 
leap back himself, the boulder was upon him, but he 
caught it easily in his arms and tossed it to the side of 
the road so that it did no harm. 

“Who can this be—the offspring of giants?” cried 
Erik. 

The round, surprised face of Roller peared through 
the gloom of the woods to view this performer of 
miracles. 

“Will you be my thrall?” Roller cried excitedly, 
thinking to enlist this wild young man in his service 


9° 


SIEGFRIED 


before the shrewd Erik did, “I will pay you more than 
he will,” and Roller pointed scornfully at Erik’s tat¬ 
tered woolen cloak and the rough shoes on his feet, 
“I have thirty tenant farms under me and he has only 
ten.” 

Siegfried laughed merrily. How Mimir would 
shudder at the thought of this. Siegfried—the last of 
a line of kings—turned bondservant for a portly coun¬ 
try gentleman. 

“No thank you,” he said politely, “I am on my way 
to the court of King Hjalprek on a mission of some 
importance. Perhaps you can tell me if I am on the 
right road.” 

“King Hjalprek!” The plump Roller was visibly 
impressed. 

“What do you know of this king?” Siegfried asked. 

“Nothing save what is said of him—that he is the 
best of good men. He has annulled many unrighteous 
laws, paid off the debts of men in his service, fostered 
the sick and wounded of his armies and has kept the 
loyalty of all of his subjects by his greatness and his 
patriotism.” 

Siegfried’s heart glowed when he heard Hjalprek 
well spoken of by this landsman. 

“You cannot go all the way to the court in a day,” 
interrupted Erik, “will you come to my hall and rest 
and feast before continuing your journey. I should 
like to hear the story of a boy who can hold half a 
hillock in his arms without a quiver.” 

“No—no, you must stay at my manor,” interrupted 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


9i 


Roller, “I have far choicer wines in my barrels and 
nobler ales in my stoups.” 

“This boy wants none of your wine,” growled Erik, 
“that is the trouble with all the young men of the vil¬ 
lage. They stuff themselves with mead and ale until 
all their manhood is gone and they fear even to listen 
to a story of a highway robber lest they be asked to go 
and encounter him. Siegfried is of different rearing 
than these youths of the village, that is easily seen.” 

Siegfried smiled to himself and thought how proud 
Mimir would be to hear those words. The boy won¬ 
dered if the village youths had ever learned an ale-rune. 

“I cannot stay with either of you,” the boy said. 
“But I wish to ride to the village that I may see men 
going about their daily tasks. I have never been out 
of the forest and I am curious to learn your ways of 
living.” 

Erik and Roller forgot their quarrel in their interest. 
Who was this young boy who had never seen the world 
and yet spoke with self-possession of worldly things? 
There was little that they could mention to which 
Siegfried could not reply—but he stared in amaze¬ 
ment at everyone they passed. The boy was so absorbed 
in what he saw that he did not notice the curious 
glances that were directed in turn at him. He made 
a striking picture riding between the two odd riders, 
for Greyfell seemed like a steed of the gods compared 
to these poor steeds of men and Siegfried swathed in 
the motly hides of beasts was a figure to strike fore¬ 
boding into simple hearts. 


92 


SIEGFRIED 


“What craft of men do you wish to watch—a smith’s 
perchance?” asked Erik. 

Siegfried threw back his head and laughed loudly, 
but when Roller questioned his laughter, Siegfried did 
not answer. It was better that none should know he 
was the apprentice of Mimir, the greatest smith of all. 

“What then—do you wish to see?” asked Erik 
rather shortly. 

The boy was serious again. The two men saw his 
face light up as he answered. 

“I want to see a ship. When I reach the court of 
Hjalprek I will find halls and granges and wagons and 
all manner of things of the land. But here by the 
spray-soaked shores I wish to learn of sea things. Much 
have I heard of Viking vessels—all the way from the 
great Dragon, war-steed of the sea—down to the small 
Askar. There is the fast-sailing Skuta that is made for 
speed, the snake-like Buza sometimes manned by as 
many as eight men, the Knerrir, a merchant vessel. 
Scalds have sung of ships as they have sung of swords. 
They have given proud names to the vessels that brave 
the sea. 

“What names?” asked Roller curiously. 

“Deer of the surf, raven of the sea, elk of the fjord,” 
cried Siegfried. 

“Bah—fancy names,” growled Erik, “I thought you 
were a lad of some sense! ” 

“Well, let us take him to the ship-sheds,” Roller 
said. “Perhaps he can man a ship alone with his great 
strength and those of the village who watch will won- 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


93 


der where he came from. The answer will be—‘Roller 
found him! ’ ” 

“Indeed—Roller found him—humph,” said Erik 
derisively, “Roller would have been a mile away from 
this same Siegfried if he had not been stopped in his 
cowardly flight. He is the find of Erik the Shrewd.” 

And Siegfried thought that the arguments of these 
two men were very silly. He remembered the ways 
of the bears and the other animals of the forest. When 
they had wanted to dispute the ownership of some¬ 
thing, they had fought the matter out with claws and 
teeth and muscle instead of nagging chatter. 

They left the main highway and walked their horses 
along a narrow lane that led toward the harbor. The 
damp smell of the sea and the loud scream of gulls 
told them that they were near the water. And in a 
moment Siegfried saw the long low buildings that 
were shelters for the ships not in use. A large ship 
lay on the sand ready to be launched. Several vessels 
anchored in the harbor tugged at their chains like im¬ 
patient animals. There was so much to see that Sieg¬ 
fried could scarcely absorb it all. The long ship that 
lay on its side where it was beached seemed to the 
boy like a sleeping monster. Erik called it a karfi. It 
had fifteen oars for each side. Now the thirty oars 
lay about on the beach, strewn carelessly as if they were 
driftwood. The karfi was painted red and white above 
her waterline. 

“Watch—they are going to launch a ship,” Roller 
called to Siegfried. And everything was forgotten in 


94 


SIEGFRIED 


the excitement of the launching of a vessel that took 
thirty men and the most massive of rollers to send it 
skidding into the sea. After the ship rested safely in 
the water, the sailors put the equipment on board. The 
oars were carried out and the gilded dragon heads were 
placed on the stem and stern where they glowed in the 
sun like ominous beasts of the gods. 

As they stood looking out to sea, they suddenly 
beheld a spot of light on the horizon. Nearer and 
nearer it came until Siegfried saw that it was a ship 
with a square sail. In the distance the sail was like a 
great luminous wing but when it came near he saw 
that it was made of coarse woolen stuff and colored in 
rude stripes of red and blue and green. 

And now before they left the harbor, Siegfried was 
taken to the ship yards where many men were working 
on the building of a ship. The boy rushed from one 
group of workers to another and saw those that were 
shaping wood, those that were nailing the planks to¬ 
gether with clinch nails, and he came to the rugged 
red-haired Olaf who was called the stem-smith because 
he made the stem and the stern of the vessel. It was a 
strange sight to see the bulwark of a ship standing on 
the grass. 

“What is that part called that you are shaping?” 
Siegfried asked a busy fellow. 

“The gunwale, my boy—,” he answered. 

“And is that one of the important parts of a ship?” 
Siegfried continued shyly. 

“Now that question requires some thought,” 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


95 


chuckled the mariner. “I cannot picture a ship with¬ 
out a gunwale and yet well I remember the last cruise 
I took. The waves buffeted us so strongly that they 
carried away the gunwale and part of the bows as well 
—yet we sailed on as gallantly as ever for the good 
part of another day.” 

“Were you ever in a real shipwreck?” Siegfried 
asked. 

“Perchance, boy—we who sail the sea do not talk 
of the evil of it. We remember instead the thrill of the 
restless ship and the long grey horizons of water and 
sky. It is better to die in a witch-storm at sea than to 
rot away with a common plague on a lonely farm.” 

Siegfried felt the stir in the old man’s words and 
for a moment he longed to forget his journey to his 
mother and join these ruddy sailors who sang boister¬ 
ously over their tasks. Siegfried listened to the words 
of their song: 

“Salt is in my eyes 
Bathing them — 

My strong arms fail; 

My eyelids smart.” 

As the boy stood there, driven in his thoughts toward 
a world of salt spray and wind-blown voyaging, a 
young lad approached him. 

“What are you thinking about so seriously?” The 
impudent voice interrupted Siegfried’s thoughts, “You 
look like a lover making poems to his lady’s eyelashes. 
Is she fair or is she dark, red-lipped or pale as a shell? 
Have you spoken to her yet or has she sent you away? 


9 6 


SIEGFRIED 


What is the story, my lad? Tell it to one who knows 
more of the world than yourself.” 

Siegfried looked in surprise at the speaker. He saw 
a slim boy who might have been the same age as him¬ 
self. He wore a white kirtle and his hair was closely 
cropped. Siegfried remembered Mimir’s telling of the 
thralls or servants of chieftains. The wearing of white 
and the cropping of their hair were the signs of their 
slavery. 

“You are a thrall,” Siegfried said rather proudly, “I 
do not understand the nonsense you speak to me of 
ladies. I have never seen a lady.” 

“He has never seen a lady—and where has he been 
all these years with his red-gold curls and his hand¬ 
some form?” mocked the thrall. 

And now all the rough sailors gathered around the 
two and tried to wheedle this battle of words into a 
duel of strength. 

“Perhaps a lady runs when she sees him,” chuckled 
one old fellow. 

Siegfried felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he 
quivered with anger. How could he tell these ruffians 
that he was a Volsung and that Odin himself watched 
over him. They would laugh and call him more names 
and think he boasted of something he knew nothing 
about. 

“Perchance he is a veritable babe in the wood and 
does not know about the world,” teased the thrall. 

And this was so near the truth it hurt. Siegfried 
swerved suddenly and picked up the slight figure of 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


97 


the thrall, rocking him back and forth in his arms as 
if he were but an infant. 

“ ’Tis you who are the babe,” he said with slow 
anger. 

The thrall kicked and struggled but Siegfried only 
held him tighter in his arms, while the sailors slapped 
each other upon the back and vowed that they had not 
been so amused since the time of the last sacrifices when 
the mimes had clattered their bells on the stage and a 
harlequin had played his tricks. 

“Let me down,” screamed the thrall. 

“Not until you have given me an oath of reconcilia¬ 
tion,” said Siegfried, for again he remembered Mimir’s 
teachings. When a man spoke ill of another it was 
called tongue-nid and he could be punished by out¬ 
lawry if he did not take back what he had said. 

“Very well, then. Let me down and I will beg your 
pardon,” said the thrall in a subdued voice. 

Loud was the laughter when the thin boy in white 
made obeisance to the sturdy lad in the skins of wild 
beasts. Then, because Siegfried was interested in the 
first boy of his own age he had ever seen, he spoke 
gently to the thrall. 

“What is your name and where are you going? I see 
that your horse is tied to the tree yonder. Perhaps we 
can Journey together?” 

The thrall looked sulky for a moment, and then he 
too broke into smiles, for Siegfried had a winning 
manner and after all the thrall had to admit himself 
fairly outdone. 


SIEGFRIED 


“My name is Alf and I am thrall to the good King 
Hjalprek. He sent me on an errand to the ship yards 
and I must start back this very night—a scarey jour¬ 
ney.” Alf shivered and even the rough sailors did not 
laugh at him now, for the forest was a great gloom at 
the side of the highway and it was said that highway 
robbers had built their houses and dens almost upon 
the roadside, for even these men were as afraid of the 
woods as any. 

“I too am going to the court of King Hjalprek. 
Shall we travel together?” Siegfried asked. 

“If you like—but I do not think he has need of an¬ 
other thrall,” Alf said somewhat loftily. 

Siegfried’s eyes twinkled. His first impulse had been 
to proclaim himself the son of the king’s foster-daugh¬ 
ter, but on second thought he kept up his disguise. 

“Well, it matters not, I have a message from a smithy 
in the forest to take to the king. If I am not accepted 
as a thrall, I will at least have seen the court and the 
king.” 

“And the ladies—!” added Alf mischievously. 

Siegfried made a move to lift the young page off his 
feet again, but Alf was off in a second to mount his 
brown mare. 

“Will you not stay the night at my hall?” Roller 
pleaded, for he had taken a liking to this young boy 
of the forest. 

“Nay—I must be off with Alf. He says that if we 
ride swiftly we will reach the court at high noon 
tomorrow.” 


THE WORLD OUTSIDE 


99 


Then Erik who had surveyed Siegfried gloomily for 
the last hour or so, rummaged in his woolen bag and 
brought forth some hard bread and smoked meat. 

“Here—take this,” he said crossly, “and should you 
come our way again, there is a rock in the middle of 
my path that I must go around to reach my door. You 
might be able to pick it up and toss it into the sea for 
me.” 

Siegfried was touched at Erik’s gift, for he knew 
that this crusty little man was one who watched his 
possessions with care, even as some men threw theirs 
away with abandon. 

“Thank you, Erik. If I return to the forest by this 
road, I will indeed come and rid you of the stone that 
blocks your way.” 

Then Siegfried ran swiftly to Greyfell who pawed 
the earth and neighed loudly with eagerness. In a 
moment those who watched saw the grey horse over¬ 
take Alf on the brown mare, and the two young boys 
gallop out of sight. 


Chapter 

wr 


T 


HE road that they galloped 


THE COURT 
OF HJALPREK. 


along was bright in the moonlight. It had left the 
sea—swinging inland to follow the outlines of the 
forest. One side of the highway was always to be the 
wood—the other side was varied; an open heath or 
dale, or the wet slough of some mire met the gaze of 
the riders. 

“But you have no sword,” Alf cried suddenly. 

Siegfried felt a boyish desire to cry out his secret. 
He longed to confide in this comrade of the night— 
perhaps to boast a little of the sword Gram that was 
waiting for him and of the dragon Fafnir that it was 
to kill. But he kept silent. 

“No, I have none.” 

Alf s face was pale—perhaps it was only the moon¬ 
light, but the quiver in his voice was no illusion. 

“There is danger on this road, Siegfried.” 

“What is danger?” Siegfried’s voice said dreamily. 

“Stop your mockery,” Alf’s voice was angry. “I am 
brave enough to travel through the night for the good 
king that I serve, but I am not so brave that I refuse to 
recognize danger. There are well-known robbers be¬ 
tween here and the court. They have built a den 
somewhere in the thickets near the road. They have 


100 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


IOI 


often stopped parties from the court and sent great 
warriors off on foot, lamenting their lost goods.” 

“I am not mocking you,” Siegfried answered gently. 
“If the robbers attack us we will certainly find some 
way out of the trouble.” 

“Do not be too sure,” Alf replied nervously. 

For a long time they rode along the wide road. 
There was no sound save the clatter of the horses’ hoofs 
and the rushing of the wind in their ears. Siegfried 
was alert and watchful—the more so when he noticed 
that Alf’s head drooped and he slept fitfully as he rode. 
It must have been the middle of the night for the 
moon was high in the heavens and the stars seemed 
cut out of the darkness with the sharp brilliancy that 
is peculiar to the very depth of night. Suddenly Sieg¬ 
fried heard the loud clatter of hoofs. Alf started from 
his sleep with a cry on his lips. 

“Who rides the road on a lonely night?” the thrall 
murmured. 

Siegfried felt his heart leap with happiness. He was 
having an adventure. He might have been any boy 
of the world instead of the foster-child of a hind, shel¬ 
tered from the ways of men. His eyes pierced the dark¬ 
ness. He scarcely knew what he expected to see. Men 
with shining swords and fierce steeds! Men with 
masked eyes and dark cloaks to hide in! 

“Look Siegfried—it is a horse that rides alone!” 
cried Alf. 

And just in time Siegfried flung out his arm to 
snatch the bridle of the runaway. He was a large 


102 


SIEGFRIED 


stallion, gleaming and wet with sweat. The horse 
was terribly spent and even when Siegfried had quieted 
him, he still quivered and neighed loudly. 

“What do you suppose it means?” Alf’s eyes were 
round with fright. 

“Perhaps the rider is held by the robbers and the 
horse escaped,” Siegfried suggested. “Could that be 
possible, Alf?” 

“Yes—if the rider were a man of power at the court, 
the highwaymen might hold him for ransom.” 

“We must watch for any signs of a bypath leading 
into the wood,” said Siegfried. 

“That we may gallop past like the wind and no man 
stop us,” cried Alf. 

“No,” said Siegfried quietly. “That we may steal 
softly up the pathway to the robber’s den and free this 
poor fellow who has been unhorsed.” 

“That is madness,” Alf interrupted, “it is no fault 
of ours that a rider has fallen into the hands of the 
robbers. It is—perchance—a sign from the gods to 
help us from doing likewise. What good could a boy 
without a sword and a young thrall like myself do 
against thirty strong and fierce men?” 

“What Mimir lacked in strength, he made up in 
slyness,” Siegfried answered. 

“What are you talking about?” Alf cried. 

“Nothing that would interest you,” Siegfried said. 
“We must walk our horses, Alf, so that the sharp ring 
of their hoofs will not carry into the forest. Keep your 
eyes straight ahead to see that there is nothing out of 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


103 


the ordinary on the road. I will look for a sign of a 
break in the thickets.” 

Alf obeyed Siegfried’s instructions. He felt as if 
some chieftain were commanding him. There was 
an imperious note of authority in Siegfried’s voice. 

“Ah—the stranger’s horse begins to shy—it is prob¬ 
ably near here that we may look for the path.” 

“You put your faith in dumb animals?” Alf said 
scornfully. 

“I have always chosen my directions by the lift of an 
animal’s head,” Siegfried replied. Again Alf won¬ 
dered at the curious ways of the boy at his side. 

They dismounted and tied the horses to some bushes 
beside the road. Siegfried led the way quickly and 
quietly through a small hole in the thickets that Alf had 
not even seen. The young thrall longed to call out— 
anything to break the strange unreal stillness. Once 
he stopped, thinking he could not go on. But even as 
he tried to gain the courage to break into a run back 
to the road, he felt Siegfried’s hand reach and clasp 
his own. Resolutely he was led on. 

Suddenly Siegfried stopped so that Alf nearly 
stumbled over him in the dark. Ahead of them glim¬ 
mered a faint light. It seemed to die out and then 
burst into flame again, and Alf saw that it was not 
the light that flickered but the trembling branches of 
the trees lying between them and the windows of a 
long low building. They moved slowly and cautiously 
nearer. Siegfried motioned to Alf to remain where 
he was and the thrall saw his companion leap for a 


104 


SIEGFRIED 


low branch of a great oak tree. Siegfried swung him¬ 
self easily to a comfortable position in the leafy foliage, 
hidden from the hut, and yet almost exactly opposite 
the open windows. 

Within the room he saw a long table. Around it 
were seated men of amazing size. They wore their 
hair in long curls and all had pointed beards. They 
were counting piles of silver and drinking from great 
stoups of ale. In the corner lay a man in a scarlet 
kirtle that Siegfried judged to be the kidnaped rider 
of the runaway horse. From time to time the high¬ 
waymen tossed bones at the helpless captive on the 
floor. Finally one raucous drinker stunned him with 
a large joint and the man of a king’s court lay like a 
dog in a bone-heap. Siegfried clenched his fists at 
the sight. But he knew that more than strength was 
needed to conquer thirty men, all well armed. The 
boy studied the room carefully. There were wooden 
chests lining the walls and in a corner by the unbolted 
door were three sacks of meal. One was torn open 
and the fine grain had spilled to the floor in a little 
yellow stream. 

In a moment, Siegfried joined Alf who stood trem¬ 
bling at the foot of the tree. 

“I have a plan,” Alf heard the words and yet could 
not believe that Siegfried had spoken. It was as if a 
leaf had rustled or a twig snapped—somehow the 
voice was a part of the voices of the forest. If anyone 
had overheard them, Alf could have sworn that the 
intruder would have noticed nothing unnatural. 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


105 


“You are to poke your head through the window 
that is opposite the door. I will lead you around to it 
in a moment. Play the fool—say that you have lost 
your way and cannot even find the door to the house.” 

“Then shall I show my sword for battle?” whispered 
Alf bravely. 

“No—no,” said Siegfried impatiently. “This is a 
trick—not a battle we are attempting. Simply engage 
the men in conversation. They will naturally turn 
in your direction. I have seen through the window 
that the door is unbolted. You will wait until I take 
the kidnaped man in my arms and then run as fast 
as you can to the horses, making them ready for instant 
departure. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Alf said softly, and followed Siegfried along 
a narrow beaten path until they stood directly under 
a lighted window. Voices could be heard within— 
coarse laughing voices thick with drinking and eating. 

“Count twenty before you poke your head 
through,” Siegfried said. 

Alf was afraid to breathe. He counted in his mind 
—and it seemed years instead of seconds before he 
reached twenty. Then there was a terrifying second 
when he thought that he was going to turn and run 
like a frightened squirrel. But he was a thrall who 
had learned to obey—and Siegfried had ordered him 
much as he had been commanded by the high-born 
chiefs of the court. Even as he put one foot on an 
uneven edge of the log that protruded beneath the 
window, Alf wondered who Siegfried might be. 


SIEGFRIED 


106 

And then the play was on! Alf felt like a per¬ 
forming mime as he pushed himself half-way through 
the small window and said in the voice of a country 
fool: “Well—fellows, I have lost my way—I have lost 
my way on the road and in the forest and even in this 
very house, for I cannot find the door.” 

The sudden appearance of a face at the window must 
have been a great surprise to the befuddled drinkers at 
the long table. They broke into loud cheering 
laughter. Only one who must have been their leader 
looked with suspicion upon the intruder. 

“Come in, yokel, and make yourself at home. A 
den of robbers is more comfortable than a hive of bees 
at any rate. You might just as well have stumbled 
into an oozy mire. Would you have perhaps preferred 
a bottomless gully?” 

Alf continued to play his part admirably, but one 
eye watched the strong wooden door. What if Sieg¬ 
fried found that it would not open? 

“I say—are you by any chance pulling my ear?” said 
Alf as stupidly as he could. 

“Or your leg! ” shouted the robbers. 

“Or the hair of your head,” said the leader with some 
sternness in his voice, and he rose from his place at the 
table to come over to pull the visitor headlong through 
the window. 

Alf felt his heart sink. Siegfried had failed him. 
Here he was being hauled by the hair of his head into 
the most dangerous den in the northlands. But before 
he submitted to the robber’s strong arms, he looked 



"Or the hair of your headsaid the leader as he rose to 
pull the visitor headlong through the window 





















V % 







THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


107 


once more in the direction of the door to see if Siegfried 
wished him to give in without a struggle. 

He saw the door swing open. In a second Siegfried 
was inside. Alf ducked back through the window 
as he saw what was happening. His strong-armed 
comrade had lifted a bag of meal and thrown it head¬ 
long at the robbers. The clouds of golden dust filled 
their eyes and their gaping mouths and tickled their 
noses. Siegfried had snatched the poor fellow who 
lay half-conscious in the bone heap and was off through 
the woods before the groaning highwaymen knew 
what was happening. Alf had beaten off the hold of 
the leader and dashed to the roadside where the horses 
waited. When Siegfried reached the moonlit road, 
Alf saw that he was not even breathing heavily and 
that he carried the unconscious load as if it were a 
cloak tossed over his shoulders. 

“On—on—my good Greyfell,” laughed Siegfried. 
He thrust the burden in front of him on his horse’s 
back and seized the halter of the runaway stallion. 
Greyfell steadied into a long gallop while Alf followed 
the lead of the beautiful grey horse. 

The last that was heard from the fiercest highway¬ 
men in the north was a lingering moaning and yelping 
as if an angry pack of wolves were battling among 
themselves. 

When they were a safe distance from the den of 
thieves, they drew up their horses and carefully lifted 
the wounded man from Greyfell’s back. In the dim 
light they saw that this was some older earl of the 


io8 


SIEGFRIED 


court. He was bloodstained and dirty and his fine 
cloak was badly torn. 

“I can hear the murmur of a stream,” Siegfried 
said. “This poor fellow has need of cold water on 
his aching head.” 

“I am afraid to go into that black wood again,” Alf 
shivered with dread. “Indeed I will never believe I 
have been in the woods until I hear a scald sing of my 
deeds.” 

“Never mind—I will go.” 

Siegfried ran through the tangled bushes and was 
lost to sight. Once inside the forest again, a host of 
memories descended upon the boy. The hundred eyes 
of night stared at him and questioned him. He seemed 
to hear the voices of the fawns: 

“Where are you going, Siegfried? In this single 
span of a day you have become so nearly a man that 
we scarcely know you.” 

Siegfried plunged on but the voices persisted. 
“Have you forgotten everything I did for you?” It 
was the cowardly whimper of Mimir’s voice that 
pierced his conscience. 

The boy found the stream. A part of it had flowed 
over and had formed a little starry pool that lay in the 
hollow of a cup of land. Siegfried bent down to wet 
the large leaves of a bush near him. They would be 
excellent poultices for the bruises of the old earl. 

For a moment, he was tempted to hide himself in the 
forest and find his way back on foot to Mimir’s cave. 
He felt very young and unimportant at the thought 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


109 

of entering a king’s court on the morrow. Perhaps 
Mimir’s way was the best—to become a hero first and 
then proclaim himself a Volsung. Men would not 
doubt the word of a hero. 

It may have been Alf’s plaintive voice calling him 
to hurry or perhaps it was the sudden vision of a broken 
sword awaiting him, that made the boy toss his head 
and turn quickly back toward the road. He had dis¬ 
missed his thoughts as a wild young horse shakes off 
its bridle. 

Soon the old earl could sit up and speak to them. 
He was Vigfuss, Earl of Bitter-heath, and he had just 
left a feast at the court of King Hjalprek early that 
evening. The robbers had unhorsed him but his good 
stallion had plunged so wildly they could not control it, 
and the horse had escaped down the road where Sieg¬ 
fried and Alf had stopped it. 

The earl consented to go back with them to the 
court of the king, for he feared another encounter with 
the highwaymen. It was nearly dawn when the three 
riders set off down the road again. And now Sieg¬ 
fried, who had laughed the whole night long and 
played at danger and mocked at death, became sud¬ 
denly silent. The old earl listened to the chatter of 
young Alf—but he could not help wondering who this 
young and beautiful boy was who looked with stern 
eyes at the road ahead. Then, when it was nearly 
dawn, Siegfried turned and asked his companions a 
question. 

“Can you tell me—either of you—where the battle- 


no 


SIEGFRIED 


field was where Siegmund the Volsung met his death?” 

Alf shrugged his slim shoulders. He was only a 
thrall and knew nothing of the history of great heroes. 
But the old earl smiled and a curious light of gladness 
was in his eyes. He seemed to be remembering the 
glory of past days and wonderful deeds. There was 
a look about him as if he relived in some vision the 
battle of which he told. 

“Another league and we shall be there. The morn¬ 
ing sun will be over the field—like that other day 
when Siegmund died. I fought near him. Never 
will I forget the slashing of his sword as he cut men 
down like sheaves of grain. His hair was the same 
red-gold as yours, young stranger, and it fell in long 
locks about his shoulders. He wore neither helmet 
nor shield, for the sword Gram was always in front 
of him, a weaving streak of magic that nothing could 
pass.” 

“Then how did he come to die?” interrupted Alf. 

“It was time for him to die,” they heard Siegfried 
say dreamily. 

“How do you know that?” the old earl looked long 
at the boy at his side. 

“Is that not the way the saga goes?” said Siegfried 
carelessly. 

“Yes—that is the story. Odin shattered the sword 
that was the great Siegmund’s protector, and the last 
of the line of the Volsungs met his death.” 

“The last of the Volsungs, you say?” Siegfried asked. 

“Yes—there was a son of Siegmund but he was de- 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


hi 


voured by the wolves of this terrible forest. Hjordis, 
the wife of the Volsung, was doomed to mourn a hus¬ 
band and a son on the same day.” 

“Are we coming to the battlefield?” questioned Alf. 

“Yes—we will soon be there.” 

After that they were silent. The pale sunlight 
changed the mists of the early morning to shifting 
veils of gold. The birds sang in a wild chorus of 
ecstasy. A single pale star gleamed where the sky was 
still grey. It was the essence of every loneliness—old 
age that has stayed too long, a solitary thing lost from 
the others of its kind. 

The highway turned into the forest for the last time. 
Greyfell and the other horses seemed to sense that the 
journey was nearing its close. The animals covered 
the ground as swiftly as wild deer fleeing from pur¬ 
suers. And after a while the riders came out of the 
forest again and found themselves approaching a long 
level plain. 

“Was this whole great heath the battlefield?” asked 
Siegfried. 

“Aye—the warriors of Hjalprek alone were five fyl- 
kings, five thousand men in each fyIking; and this 
great mass was outnumbered by the Goths.” 

It was a difficult thing to imagine—that long stretch 
of quiet plain, the scene of a stirring battle. Siegfried 
sat his horse as if he were molded and hewn out of 
rock. Only the breeze stirring his long silky hair gave 
him life. Alf was nervously still. He did not under¬ 
stand the drama of the moment. Only the old earl 


112 


SIEGFRIED 


seemed to know. He talked in a low voice of a picture 
he remembered well. 

“After the horns had blown on that first day of the 
battle, the fighting began—first spears, then arrows 
and poles with iron points. Then the hand-to-hand 
fighting started and it was Siegmund the Volsung who 
led the array with his glittering sword Gram. Many 
a shield was rent and horses were halved as if they 
were made of putty and the blood on the battlefield 
was—unbelievably—like a red lake. I cannot tell you 
how many days this went on. I only know that when¬ 
ever a series of nights had passed, the battle began 
anew. The horns were blown again and the drums 
thundered their appeal. We fought on. Siegmund 
was our star. His voice was laughter in our ears. 
When his sword was shattered, we were stunned with 
horror. It seemed like something that could not have 
happened. After that, the battle was done for us. 
The Goths took what they willed. By some miracle 
we had weakened them so that they did not dare go on 
to the court of Hjalprek where fresh warriors stood 
ready to battle to their death to save the great hall. 
That is why the seat of Hjalprek still stands.” 

“We must be off,” Siegfried interrupted suddenly. 
His face was grave and he looked as if he could not 
bear to hear more of this tale of battle. 

The old earl watched him curiously as they galloped 
toward the court. Alf was alert with pleasure at 
being home again. 

“We will have a fine adventure to recount,” he 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


“3 

boasted. “Thirty robbers single-handed! Perhaps the 
king will make me a chieftain.” 

The earl looked at Siegfried to see if he would match 
this boasting with a bragging tale of his own. But the 
boy seemed scarcely to have heard Alf s words. In a 
little while they reached a fair combe, lacy with trees 
and trimmed hedges. On the top of the slope Sieg¬ 
fried saw a vast hall. Other buildings were half 
hidden by the trees. A wall of stone fenced the estate 
and a gate of grilled ironwork barred the entrance. 
The design was the work of the craftiest of smiths. 
The earl led the way past the guards and they rode 
straightway to the hall of Hjalprek. The hall was 
built east and west, with the long walls running north 
and south. There were two doors, the man’s door and 
the woman’s door. Each was carved with runes and 
decorated with a fine studding of ironwork. When 
Siegfried entered the hall, he stood for a moment in 
breathless wonder. 

The walls were hung all over with shields of gold 
and silver that were like a chain of giant coins strung 
about the room. The wainscoting was carved with 
the histories of familiar sagas, and brilliant tapestries 
hung from the high ceilings to the floor. Benches 
lined the walls and giant fires burned on the massive 
hearths. Buffers drew the smoke up through the roof. 
The hall was dark for the windows were high in the 
wall and very small. A blaze of candles flared in front 
of a raised bench at the end of the hall facing the sun. 
Candle-boys and pages with cups in their hands stood 


SIEGFRIED 


IX 4 

before every high-born man. Who, then, was the 
king? 

On a dais sat a beautiful woman. Her hair swept 
back from her high forehead like two dark wings and 
her fine dark eyes stared dreamily through the smoky 
hall. Siegfried knew that this woman could be no 
other than Hjordis the lovely. 

The boy pushed forward in his eagerness. Alf, the 
thrall, motioned him back desperately. 

“Fool—you are nobody here, even if you can con¬ 
quer a band of robbers. Find yourself a corner as 
far away from the king as possible. After a while 
you will be noticed and then you can make your request 
to join the service of the court.” 

Siegfried shook off the boy who tried to stop him. 
Alf turned desperately to the old earl. 

“Tell him to come back. He knows nothing of 
kings or of courts or of high-born ladies. He will 
forget to bow and he will trip on the trains of the 
women and even speak to the king if he is not 
stopped.” 

But the old earl did not call to Siegfried. He knew 
somehow that this was a moment destiny had ordered 
and no man could forbid. He would not have been 
surprised to see a miracle. He would not have dis¬ 
believed if the boy had proclaimed himself a god. 
None of these things happened. The eyes of every¬ 
one in the hall were suddenly riveted upon the in¬ 
truder. They saw a fair form—a boy with shoulders 
broader than those of the largest of them all. His 


THE COURT OF HJALPREK 


height was perfectly proportioned, so that he seemed 
neither very tall nor exceptionally broad. The face 
was broad and high-boned with a straight nose and sen¬ 
sitive mouth. His eyes were so deep a blue, they looked 
shadowy and dark. His glance was as keen as a 
man’s and not the idly curious gaze of a boy. The 
beautiful red-gold hair that was to mark him apart 
from other men framed his face in a blaze of glory. 

Those who watched saw the boy walk straightway 
to the king. The good Hjalprek looked amazed. 
The guardsmen swung their swords aloft and stepped 
forward. A naked mighty man clothed in the motley 
skins of wild beasts could mean no good here. But 
King Hjalprek motioned them away and said mus¬ 
ingly: “Your face vouches for your race, young man. 
It is easily seen that you are of kingly and not servile 
stock. There is something in your eyes and in the 
curve of your mouth that bespeaks a loveliness of soul. 
What are you called and why have you come to me?” 

Siegfried hesitated before he spoke. Something had 
led him straight to the king, but now that he faced 
the grand old nobleman, the boy had nothing to say. 
If he declared himself the lost son of Hjordis, no one 
would believe him. 

“Come—speak up. Fear does not become you,” 
said the king more harshly. 

Siegfried started. They thought he was afraid. He 
lifted his head proudly and said simply: “I am 
Siegfried.” 

Only two people in that great hall felt the shock of 


n6 


SIEGFRIED 


that name. Hjordis stood up and held out a trembling 
hand to the king for support. And Hjalprek, who 
was known throughout the north for his composure, 
started as if he had seen some sign from the gods. 

“And how shall we know the truth of your words?” 
the king said. 

A momentary bitterness crossed Siegfried’s face. He 
shut his eyes as if he were in pain. Then suddenly 
he remembered Odin’s words, grieving at the quick 
judgment of Hjordis. The boy understood the 
terrible doubt that must lie in his mother’s heart. He 
read the yearning in the voice of the king. 

“There is a certain sword in the possession of my 
mother. It is in two shards, shattered by the god 
Odin at the moment the Norns desired its owner to 
die. The sword is called Gram, and Siegmund the 
Volsung was the last who fought with it. Another 
Volsung lives to weld the sword together again.” 

The face of Hjordis was drained of color. She stood 
like a pale priestess with transparent hands blessing the 
boy who knelt at her feet. King Hjalprek motioned 
the feasters from the hall. They moved out in rustling 
procession, their curious whispering like the passing of 
the wind through long grasses. The last to leave was 
the old earl. He stood as if he could not bear to take 
his eyes from that strangely grouped scene before him: 
—King Hjalprek with glowing eyes gazed at the son 
of Siegmund, and Siegfried and Hjordis found each 
other’s hands—as if they were lost in a dream. 


Chapter 

IS 



THE OATH 
OFAVOLSUNG 


OR seven days there was feasting. 


The finding of the lost Siegfried was no common 
event. Hundreds of thralls worked upon the decking 
of the hall until it was regal and gorgeous with crimson 
hangings and curtains of purple dye. The floor was 
strewn with embroidered mantles, and the long wooden 
benches were transformed into brilliant divans soft 
with many pillows. High above hung twinkling 
lanterns and the corners of the hall held softly shaded 
lamps lit with oil. The censers burned sweet vapors, 
so that the room was pungent and fragrant with intoxi¬ 
cating perfumes. In the midst of the hall stood an 
enormous butt which held sparkling liquors. A 
steady procession of pages, carrying cups of gold, filled 
and refilled the goblets of the guests. The high-born 
received their drinks from the horn of a wild ox and 
the liquors were not simply a pure wine but were mix¬ 
tures of many-flavored nectars and juices from foreign 
lands. The hall was heavy and hot with luxurious 
adornment—tables laden with bowls of gold and 
jeweled goblets and dishes of silver. The spicy rich 
smells of cooked meat whetted the appetites of the 
throng. Men tore the meat from the bones with rude 
fingers and swallowed great pieces of hard bread. 


117 


n8 


SIEGFRIED 


Gaunt, long-limbed dogs gnawed at the scraps that 
were thrown away. There was a continuous pouring 
of strong ale to wash down the simple food that was 
eaten in great quantities. 

As the days passed, people forgot the occasion of 
their feasting. Men drowsed over the tables and if 
anyone had said “Siegfried” to them, they would have 
answered, “To his health” without prompting, but the 
name meant nothing to their dazed minds. The good 
king Hjalprek insisted that the celebration continue. 
He gave Siegfried bags of ruddy gold to deal out 
among the strolling mimes and scalds. Steeds were 
the prizes for the feats of running and jumping. Songs 
began to ring through the hall—songs of the line of 
the Volsungs and of this last Volsung who was to 
continue the godlike deeds of his fathers. 

A tourney was set for the sixth day, and every baron 
and earl and knight who could hold a sword joined 
in the hurtling. The splintering of swords and shafts 
re-echoed to the clouds, and fragments of spears flew 
like falling stars to the earth. And none of this fight¬ 
ing took on a serious air for though the ground was 
bright with precious stones and twisted bucklers, the 
owners of the weapons laughed, for King Hjalprek 
dealt out weapons nobler than those that had been 
destroyed. 

Through all this festivity Siegfried walked moodily. 
He was eager to be off. On a far, glittering heath a 
loathsome worm coiled at the door of a mountain 
cavern, awaiting the arrival of one who walked in 


THE OATH OF A VOLSUNG 


119 

bravery and fearlessness. But Siegfried saw that the 
good King Hjalprek was happy in this celebrating, and 
he tried to hide his impatience and play his part well. 
The maidens of the court worked upon fair garments 
to take the place of the wild skins that Siegfried wore. 
He donned a shirt studded with jewels and inlaid with 
gold. The glances that followed him would have told 
him how much he pleased the eye, but he did not see 
them. 

At last Hjordis called him to her. She who had 
loved his father, Siegmund, understood something of 
the sternness of the Volsungs. 

“You do not like this gaudy display, Siegfried,” she 
said. 

“It is beautiful,” he answered, not wishing to hurt 
her. 

“Tell me what you really desire.” Hjordis urged 
softly. 

“I long to receive the shards of my father’s sword, 
Gram—and go forth at once to the smithy in the forest 
where I was raised. When I have welded the sword 
together I shall go with the dwarf Mimir upon an 
errand that promises high adventure. I will not tell it 
to you until I have succeeded in carrying it out. Then 
I can come to this court a hero—instead of an unknown 
boy who has never done anything worthy of his birth.” 

Hjordis caught her breath and her eyes dimmed with 
tears. So she was to lose him even as soon as she 
found him. But she saw the look of longing in his 
face and answered: 


120 


SIEGFRIED 


“Will you do one thing for me? I have a wise foster- 
brother, one Gripir, who has the gift of foretelling. 
Go to him and ask him what you should do. What¬ 
ever he tells you, I wish you to consider. Then return 
to me and I will abide by whatever decision you have 
made.” 

“Where is he to be found?” Siegfried cried, eager to 
be off. 

“Ride Greyfell down the road that lies beyond this 
combe. You will come soon to a high rocky mountain. 
Your horse will find his way to the top. Gripir sits 
there. He is old and full of tears. The world looks 
sad to one who can read it.” 

“What shall I say to the King,” Siegfried asked, “to 
explain my absence?” 

“Nothing—he is busy with the celebration and will 
not notice your departure. Come back this night, 
Siegfried. Tomorrow is the last day of feasting and 
it is then that I am to give you the shards of the sword 
Gram.” 

Siegfried bowed and turned to go, but their eyes met 
in a swift appeal. He reached out to touch her soft 
hand gratefully and turned away so that he would 
not see her tears. 

It was good to step out into the cool air of late after¬ 
noon. It was good to hurry to the stables and find 
Greyfell quivering with eagerness. Soon Siegfried was 
galloping along a hard stony road. 

In the distance a mountain peak arose. It was the 
color of burnt copper and Siegfried thought that the 


THE OATH OF A VOLSUNG 


121 


last rays of the sun must be striking the grey rock and 
changing it to a molten mass. But when he reached 
the foot of the mountain he saw that it was not the 
sun but the natural color of the rock that gave it the 
glowing color. The steep incline defied them, but 
Greyfell bravely mounted the narrow path graven in 
the rock. When Siegfried reached the top of the moun¬ 
tain he found a house built there. It was made of the 
same strange copper-colored rock and looked like an¬ 
other peak jutting out from the mountainside. A dead 
silence caught horse and rider in its weird calm. There 
were no trees to rustle in the wind and the forest 
creatures dared not show themselves on bare slopes that 
harbored no hiding place of shrubbery. As Siegfried 
dismounted from Greyfell and stood looking question- 
ingly about him, a door in the rock opened and an old 
man stepped forth. 

Siegfried could think of nothing with which to com¬ 
pare him save the wrinkled fruits that lie on the ground 
when the frost comes. The old man carried a staff, 
strangely contorted and carved with runes. Suddenly 
Siegfried heard a voice—its quality was somewhat like 
the gentle tones of a woman—but besides softness there 
was a note of singular sweetness that throbbed in its 
depths. 

“You are Siegfried, the last of the Volsungs.” 

“Aye—and you are Gripir, the foster-brother of my 
mother who is called Hjordis the Lovely. She has sent 
me to you to ask what life holds for me.” 

“And do you wish to know?” smiled the old prophet. 


122 


SIEGFRIED 


“I wish to know—only a part of what is to happen,” 
Siegfried said impulsively. “Is that not what you 
would choose for yourself? What joy in knowing a 
saga’s ending before you have heard more than half¬ 
way through it? I know that I shall be summoned at 
my hour of fate. Only the doomed ones die.” 

“You are wise,” said Gripir. He fell into a deep 
silence and his eyes were like the half-open eyes of a 
dead man. Siegfried shivered as he watched. 

“How much do you wish to know—it is yours for 
the asking?” the man of magic gifts said at last. 

“I wish to know only one thing,” Siegfried said. 
“Must I stay at the court of King Hjalprek and be a 
wearer of rich jewels, a drinker of rare wines, a fighter 
of light-hearted duels?” 

“Is that all you ask to hear? It takes not the gifts 
of a prophet to answer you, Siegfried. I have only one 
counsel for you. You must take an oath at once. 
When Hjalprek hears that oath he will know that he 
cannot keep you with him.” 

“What oath—?” Siegfried said in astonishment. 
He had not expected this answer. 

“Whatever task you shall choose for yourself in this 
world, there is still one other that must be undertaken. 
You were not born of a race of kings to forget them. 
The avenging of your kinsmen who fought their last 
fight with men called Goths is the supreme task I fore¬ 
tell!” 

Siegfried was amazed. He would have left this 
deed undone had not Gripir reminded him. 


THE OATH OF A VOLSUNG 


“There is a promise that I must fulfill before I go 
across the sea,” he said. 

“Yes,” Gripir again assumed the look of a man lost 
in deep sleep. “A sword must be welded and a hoard 
must be won.” The voice of the old man died with 
the faint throb of a deep-voiced harp. He rose and 
kissed Siegfried on the forehead before he turned and 
passed through the rocky portal again. 

The chill of evening came suddenly over the moun¬ 
tain. Siegfried shivered and stretched himself. Then 
mounting Greyfell, he rode down the sharp incline 
with a clatter and clanging of hoofs on the mountain¬ 
side. Reaching the highway, he rode through the early 
evening to the walls of the court of Hjalprek and he 
saw the warm glimmer of lights awaiting him. 

^ ^ 

The seventh day was misty and grey. Merriment 
had reached its peak and the hall rang with the com¬ 
panionship that a warm fire and great shelter brings 
on a dark day. It was late afternoon before King 
Hjalprek appeared on his dais. A restless silence 
brooded over the hall. What was to happen now? 
What climax to a week of play and feasting? 

Hjalprek lifted his hand for attention and began to 
speak in a grave voice: “Is there any trait of the north- 
men that is loved above all others?” 

Stupidity registered on most of the faces before the 
king. Every head was giddy with great drinking and 
serious thoughts were far from befuddled minds. 


124 


SIEGFRIED 


Hjalprek scowled, but he continued to speak, answer¬ 
ing his own question. 

“The most binding thing in the north is a man’s 
oath. The higher born the man shall be, the more 
sacred this oath shall be. What a man shall swear 
in the presence of other men at the Thing or at the 
Temple, he shall not be forgiven if he forgets.” 

“What’s the matter now?” sputtered a red-faced 
baron. 

“Who’s he talking to?” a fat gourmand lifted a 
puffy face to stare helplessly about him. 

“Must be me and S-Siegfried,” said Alf, who was 
propped up against a bench telling the story of the 
robbers for the fiftieth time. 

King Hjalprek went on speaking. His voice was 
dull with disappointment. He saw now that the 
riotous orgy of celebrating had been no true welcome 
for Siegfried. 

“The last son of the Volsungs is found. For many 
years we have grieved, thinking him dead. Now we 
rejoice that he lives to carry on the deeds of a long 
line of hard fury-born warriors. For seven days we 
have welcomed him, and now on the seventh we must 
bid him farewell.” 

“Farewell?” the cry rang through the hall in 
amazement. 

“Siegfried leaves at dawn upon certain perilous 
errands. Before he is gone, he wishes to take an oath 
in the Temple of my estate. He desires publicly to 
vow the avenging of the death of his father and of 


THE OATH OF A VOLSUNG 


I2 5 


those other Volsungs who were tricked into death by 
the Goths.” 

“Does he go at once upon this errand of revenge?” 
said a high-born chief who sat at the king’s hand. 

“Nay—Gudbrand, he has promised himself to an¬ 
other task first. But if he lives through it, he will 
return to my court. We will fit him out with brave 
ships and strong warriors, and they shall invade the 
land of the Goths, meanest among men.” 

Hjalprek rose and with one accord men followed 
him through the door of the feasting hall. His words 
had sobered them and they spoke little or not at all as 
they made their way to the holy hill behind the combe 
where a fair temple stood. They entered the sacred 
building, dark and gloomy save for a mighty cross¬ 
beam of pure silver that Hjalprek had had built into 
the roof. As they gathered there in the gloom, the 
songs of thralls rose in a thrilling volume and Siegfried 
came through the door, his face pale in the dim light 
and his bright hair gleaming. 

The oath was taken quickly and with little cere¬ 
mony. Siegfried placed his hand on a silver ring that 
Hjalprek had dipped in the blood of a sacrificial ox. 
The voice of Siegfried was heard calling upon Odin 
and the gods Asar, Frey and Njord for help in his task 
and then he said: “I take temple oath on the ring and I 
swear to Odin that I will avenge Siegmund, the king, 
and the other of my kinsmen who fell in that their last 
fight with the Goths.” 


126 


SIEGFRIED 


Late in the night, Siegfried went to the s\cmma 
where his mother’s quarters were. 

“Hjordis, the beautiful,” the son of this rare woman 
of the north said. “Have you guarded the shards of 
Siegmund’s sword? Is it true that you have in your 
possession the broken Gram?” 

“Yes, my son.” Then Hjordis looked at him wist¬ 
fully. “Must you follow the sword’s gleam?” 

“I must,” he answered simply. “I am bitten by 
desire to do great deeds, but my hands and my body 
are not enough to guard me in battle. Deliver the 
sword Gram to me. If I cannot weld it together, your 
question will be answered. You will know then that 
I was not fit to follow the sword’s gleam.” 

So Hjordis took his hand in her hand and they 
walked down a long corridor to a chest that stood 
against the darkest of the walls. The queen bent over 
the chest and Siegfried heard the clink of the golden 
key and the dull thud of the lid resting against the 
wall. Hjordis turned and handed him a sheaf of 
silk and in the softness of the silk Siegfried felt the cold 
hard sword like a spine in a yielding body. He turned 
quickly to the lighted chamber and unrolled the cloth. 
The shards of the sword lay like brilliant jewels with¬ 
out rust or mould. The broken blade was like pieces 
of a splintered ice floe—blue-white and silver. The 
hilt was solid with precious gems. Siegfried felt his 
heart grow sick. What if he failed as Mimir had 
failed? What if he were not strong enough to weld 
the sword together? 


THE OATH OF A VOLSUNG 


127 


“You are going away?” the voice of Hjordis startled 
him. He looked and saw that she had forgotten the 
sword Gram. She had kept it all these years for him 
and now that it was given she must erase the memory 
of it from her mind. It was hers no longer—as Sieg- 
mund was no longer hers—as Siegfried would be gone 
on the morrow. 

“I am leaving in the morning—but I will return,” 
Siegfried said cheerfully. “The years go swiftly by. 
When I am strong enough to undertake the fulfillment 
of my vow, I will return to this court for ships and men. 
You yourself will make me my battle standards.” 

For a moment it seemed as if Hjordis could not be 
comforted. Her smooth hands toyed with the sword 
that carried destruction in its wake. She devoured the 
sight of her son with hungry eyes. He was young 
and she could not keep him. He was beautiful and 
he was not to be hers. Was this what she had waited 
for? To lose him again! 

Siegfried knew that she suffered but he could not 
comfort her. Taking the broken shards, he bent and 
kissed her. As he went from the room, he waited a 
moment for the word that he knew would come. 

“The sword was the hope of kings—it remains the 
hope of the Volsungs,” Hjordis said faintly. 

She was right! Siegfried hurried into the night, 
spurred on by the ardour of her words. The sword 
Gram had given great power to Siegmund and Sieg- 
mund’s son prayed now that it would give power to 
him as well. 


Qhapter 

X 


THE WELDING OF 
THE SWORD GRAM 


N THE morning a great escort 
of warriors assembled. Mounted upon the swiftest 
steeds of Hjalprek’s stables, they lined the broad high¬ 
way in front of Hjalprek’s gates. This was the accom¬ 
panying train for Siegfried’s departure. The assembly 
glowed in the sun as the bright rays struck the steel of 
their swords and the gold rims of their shields. The 
rings of the coats-of-mail reflected the light in thou¬ 
sands of dancing sun spots and the helmets were like 
the pointed flames on tall wax tapers. Richly em¬ 
broidered banners marked the front ranks and as the 
wind blew they fluttered like eager birds. The escort 
awaited the coming of Siegfried. 

Down the lines it was whispered that the good King 
had searched his treasure chests for the armor Sieg¬ 
fried would wear. There were words of a brynja as 
soft as silk yet strong as the sternest mesh of steel. 
Some argued the helmet would be all of silver and 
others denied it, saying a true Viking should wear a 
steel cap with a broad brim casting his face in gloom. 
And everyone knew that there was some mystery about 
the sword. Would it be a godlike weapon or simply 
a harsh rugged arm of power? Would Siegfried come 
riding like one marked apart by Odin or like a strong 


128 


THE WELDING OF THE SWORD GRAM 


129 


man of the north? They wondered—and awaited his 
coming. 

The clatter of hoofs burst upon them and the excited 
neighing of a horse sounded an unreal note in the still¬ 
ness. They heard a voice vibrant with happiness and 
power: “On—Greyfell—forward!” And Siegfried 
was there—an awesome figure in their midst. Once 
more dressed in the rough skins of wild beasts, with 
skin shoes on his feet and a massive war-horn slung 
over his shoulders, he seemed the embodiment of primi¬ 
tive strength. There was almost brutal power in his 
bearing. His skin was the color of ruddy fruit and 
his golden hair curled closely about his head in tight, 
gleaming coils as if it were made of some hard metallic 
substance. His lips were unsmiling and the whole 
expression of his face and body cried out an impatience 
and restless eagerness. Greyfell reared and stamped 
as if he echoed his master’s desire. 

There were no farewells. From a small hillock 
above the road Hjordis watched her son. King Hjal- 
prek on a jet black stallion stood at his gateway like one 
of his own guardsmen. Siegfried looked back just 
once—to the hillock where the wind blew the white 
and golden garments of a woman and to the gate where 
a king lifted his hand in a gesture of salute. 

“On—Greyfell—!” They heard the voice of Sieg¬ 
fried ring loudly. 

Greyfell sprang forward, racing with every fibre of 
his being. Behind him the shining escort surged for¬ 
ward like a mighty tide. Those who watched from 


i 3 ° 


SIEGFRIED 


the great hall saw the company of horses gradually 
spread out like a giant wedge—the faster horses out¬ 
running the others. And always the apex of the 
wedge was Siegfried riding his gallant grey steed. The 
detachment kept its triangle array for the first mile. 
The sound of hoofs was so loud it struck terror to the 
hearts of simple thralls working out upon the acres 
and meads of the King. And then at last, the wedge 
lost its shape as Siegfried outstripped them all and 
raced on alone, a solitary figure on the road with his 
escort stumbling far behind him. 

The country folk stood in excited gatherings and 
told each other that they had seen a horse that flew in¬ 
stead of galloped. In the outlying heaths and hamlets, 
men wondered who the rider was until a certain land- 
owner called Erik the Shrewd, found that the unwieldy 
stone that had barred his path was rolled away. He 
knew then that Siegfried had passed by! 

So the news spread—Erik told it to an old potter 
who sat at his wheel fashioning bowls and ewers for 
the people of the village, and after that the potter told 
it to every man who walked by his open door. The 
tale grew with the telling until Greyfell became the 
image of a wild bull or bison and Siegfried lived in 
men’s minds as half-god and half-beast. And sagas 
were sung of him. The wandering minstrels of Hjal- 
prek’s court entered the halls of other kings and chief¬ 
tains and sang of that gleaming wedge-array and of 
the lone horseman who left his escort behind and found 
a pace worthy of his own horse! 


THE WELDING OF THE SWORD GRAM 131 

Siegfried pursued his wild flight until he reached the 
still, dark groves of the forest. There he steadied 
Greyfell to a trot. They made their way through the 
tangled bracken until they came to the smooth cold 
road that wound through the wood like a silver stream. 
Then Siegfried knew that he was following once more 
the path to YggdrasiPs ash and to Mimir’s grotto. 
The woods seemed more beautiful to him than ever 
before. The scarlet berries of the holly-bushes made 
the roadside gay and the moss on the tree-boles had 
never been so bright a green. Flowers bloomed and 
birds sang. Siegfried did not stop for sleep. He was 
caught by the spell of the forest. He wondered if he 
could ever forget entirely the soft whimper of a hind 
as she misses a fawn. Would he find that memories 
of the forest followed him to the end of his days? 

He rode from moon to moon and at last the familiar 
landmarks of the glades he knew were everywhere 
about him. Sometimes he could hear the shivering 
and the rustle of the great Ash. The forest was dusky 
even at mid-day now, for the great tree spread its 
limbs and kept out the light. At last Siegfried ap¬ 
proached the glade near the tree itself. Dismounting 
from Greyfell he tied the horse to a bush and drew near 
the haunt of Mimir with cautious steps. He longed 
to see the dwarf before this sinister little creature knew 
he was being watched. 

Mimir’s voice soon reached him, the high querulous 
whine that Siegfried had come to know so well. 
Through the blue haze of the glade, Siegfried observed 


132 


SIEGFRIED 


the dwarf unseen and his heart grew heavy at what he 
saw. Mimir paced up and down beside his well, 
raging like a diminutive demon. He was more fright¬ 
ful than ever with his spindly legs carrying his hairy 
distorted body and great head. Loose-lipped, with 
bulging eyes, the face of Mimir was horrible to Sieg¬ 
fried who had looked on the countenances of good 
men. Curiously—at this moment—Mimir was talk¬ 
ing of Siegfried. He twisted his long stringy hair with 
his claw-like hands and mused: 

“Breaking bow, or flaring flame, 
ravening wolf, or croaking raven, 
routing swine, or rootless tree, 
waxing wave, or seething cauldron, 
flying arrows or jailing billow, 
ice of a night-time, coiling adder, 
sickly calf, or self-willed thrall, 
flay of bears or Prince’s child! 

Be never so trustful as these to trust’’ 

Mimir chewed his long nails and pulled at his lips as 
he said these words. And then he began to sing his 
song again, as if voicing his hate and mistrust was a 
perverse comfort. 

“Let none put faith in the first sown fruit 
Nor yet in his son so soon; 

Whim rules the child and weather the field, 
Each is open to chance.” 

“What are you talking about?” came the impudent 
voice of Ratatosk from the ash-tree. 


THE WELDING OF THE SWORD GRAM 133 

“The thankless child. Gone—gone now for count¬ 
less days. My teachings were for naught. I could not 
hold him here. And who will kill Fafnir now and 
how shall I take the gold?” Mimir whimpered. 

“Take the gold yourself,” said Nidhog crossly as he 
gnawed at the roots of Yggdrasil. “What did you 
hope to do? Keep the boy here in this grotto like a 
moth in a dark cocoon?” 

“Why shouldn’t he have stayed?” retorted Mimir. 
“I raised him like a loving father.” 

At this there was a great clucking and croaking from 
the branches of the tree. The hawk and the eagle 
laughed in their strange way, but as Mimir continued 
to weep the squirrel Ratatosk was filled with 
impatience. 

“Weep not, silly gnome. He will come back if I 
know him. Siegfried is not one to chase the wind. 
He will choose an adventure to some purpose. This 
errand of dragon-killing will not be forgotten.” 

“How do you know?” Mimir asked. 

“I can judge what is worth being judged and Sieg¬ 
fried is deserving,” snapped Ratatosk. 

“Why did he go away then?” Mimir said sullenly. 

“He wanted a sword, stupid,” said Nidhog the 
worm. 

“I made him swords and he destroyed them,” Mimir 
cried angrily. 

“And why were you content to send him forth armed 
with a sword that would not hold against a cavern 
wall?” cried the watchful hawk. 


*34 


SIEGFRIED 


“Never you mind,” muttered Mimir. 

“Yes—why were you willing?”—it was the stern 
voice of Siegfried who questioned. 

Mimir stared unbelievingly. Siegfried had come 
home—but what Siegfried was this? Instead of an 
uncertain youth, Mimir was confronted with a power¬ 
ful man. The dwarf seemed to dwindle into a smaller 
and more cringing figure than ever before. He crept 
to the trunk of the ash tree and leaned his trembling 
body against its massive roots for support. With 
chattering teeth and a wild jangling laughter the dwarf 
spoke: 

“Aha, thankless one—you ran away. But now you 
come back to Mimir’s shelter.” 

Siegfried only looked scornfully at the pitiful figure 
before him. 

“Speak up—did I not teach you the words of men?” 
screamed Mimir, tantalized beyond his endurance by 
the silence of the other. “Where have you been?” 

“To the court of a king in the world outside this 
forest,” Siegfried answered. 

“What has happened to you?” Mimir looked anx¬ 
iously up at him. 

“I have learned that I am a Volsung and I have 
found a sword that I will weld myself with all the 
knowledge you possess to aid me.” 

Mimir turned very pale. 

“What sword?” he whispered. 

“The sword Gram, which Odin gave to the line of 
the Volsungs,” said Siegfried proudly. Then he 


THE WELDING OF THE SWORD GRAM 


i 35 


kneeled down on the ground and unbound a silken 
sheath. The dwarf who crouched among the fallen 
leaves of the ash bent forward and saw two gleaming 
shards of icy steel. 

“Look, Mimir, a sword at last to kill Fafnir and 
to make me a hero!” 

“Must it be that sword?” Mimir groaned. 

“And what is wrong with this sword?” Siegfried 
asked. 

“It is broken,” Mimir tried to mislead him slyly. 

“And yet worthy of being welded together again,” 
Siegfried said. 

“It carries destruction in its wake—it killed your 
father and perhaps it will kill you as well,” Mimir 
protested. 

“I do not understand your grumblings,” Siegfried 
cried. He snatched the shards from the ground and 
turned as if he could bear this petty argument no 
longer. 

Mimir was left cowering on the ground as Siegfried 
strode through the dark door of the cavern. In the 
heart of the dwarf a new fear was born. The sword 
Gram would never be shattered. Instead of breaking 
against the horny skin of the dragon, Mimir knew that 
the sword was destined to live on for other deeds. 
This did not agree with Mimir’s plans. 

In a frenzy of distress the dwarf rushed to the 
Well of Urd and looked into its dark depths, hoping 
to find comfort there. The waters were curiously 
calm. Mimir bent eagerly over the glassy pool. But 


i 3 6 


SIEGFRIED 


what he saw made him cry anew and wring his hands 
like an old woman who has lost all that is dear to her. 
Mimir had wished for Siegfried’s death in the killing 
of Fafnir, for he saw that the young Volsung would 
become more powerful—even without gold, than 
Mimir would be with the gold. His plan had been for 
a sword that was strong enough to wound Fafnir 
fatally and be shattered in the wounding. Then when 
the dragon lashed itself in a death agony, Siegfried 
would be destroyed, for he would have no weapon with 
which to save himself. Mimir’s evil scheme was 
threatened by the sword Gram. 

At dawn of the next day fires that were destined to 
burn continuously for many weeks were built in the 
smithy. Never had the bellows blown so high a flame 
—never had the anvil sung in such a wild way. Sieg¬ 
fried, half-naked, toiled in the firelight. His skin was 
wet and shining. His muscles stood out like cords. 
On the outskirts Mimir lurked and spied. Siegfried 
allowed him no part in the actual forging of the 
sword, but he asked advice on many matters for Mimir 
was the master smith of the northlands. The dwarf 
found that the truth was wrung from him. Siegfried 
shattered every lie upon the sly gnome’s lips. 

Instead of welding the broken shards together, 
Mimir said that the sword must be ground to a pow¬ 
dery steel and melted to a rivulet of fire. And this was 
a mighty task but Siegfried worked happily, secure in 
the knowledge that Gram would not disappoint him. 
So the broken blade was crushed into something that 


THE WELDING OF THE SWORD GRAM 137 

could be wrought freshly again. As Siegfried shattered 
the steel, Mimir walked in a ring repeating dark 
incantations: 

'7 know incantations 
Which no king's wife knows, 

And no maris son.” 

But Siegfried interrupted his words, saying: “Be 
still, Mimir. I want no witchcraft in the welding of 
this sword.” 

Then Mimir sat down on a stone and sulked. But 
he could not be quiet for long. 

“Siegfried—there is a trick of forgery that no one 
knows but Mimir, the mastersmith.” 

“What is it? The truth, ugly dwarf, or silence from 
you!” 

“Why do you doubt me, son?” whined Mimir. 

“Call me not your son,” Siegfried cried passionately. 

“Put the powdered steel in a mixture of milk and 
meal to forge it,” Mimir said. 

Siegfried obeyed him and for days the fiery liquid 
was forged in a red hot fire. At last every particle of 
dross was separated from the metal. The sword was 
ready to be shaped and beaten anew. More days passed 
and Siegfried pounded with long steady strokes, and 
so the blade grew under the guidance of the baleful 
eyes of Mimir, the master-smith. At last it emerged 
from the ashes and was ready for the tempering. 

“Temper it in the Well of Wisdom,” Mimir said. 

They went from the cavern into the glade outside. 
The air was chill, for the making of the sword had 


i 3 8 


SIEGFRIED 


taken until the late autumn. The whole space beneath 
the ash was filled with a soft blue mist like a gloaming. 
The Well of Urd lay dark and cool and undisturbed. 
Siegfried plunged the blade into its waters. There was 
a fierce sizzling and hissing. The whole pool gushed 
over, bespattering them with the white spume that 
floated on the surface of the well. The sword was 
bleaker and colder than ever. It was the end of the 
seventh week before the blade was finally joined to the 
heavily jeweled hilt again and the time had come for 
trying its strength. 

Perhaps Siegfried felt some misgiving in his heart, 
but his eyes gave no sign of it. His whole face was 
transfigured with a look of proud ruthlessness. He 
lifted the sword high and in the ruddy light of the 
cave it seemed as if fire ran along the edges of the 
blade. The sword was seven spans long and only a 
man as tall as Siegfried could have handled it with ease. 

“Test your work! ” Mimir cried impatiently. 

Siegfried glanced around him for something to 
strike with Gram. He saw the hard anvil before him 
and lifting the sword he smote it mightily. There was 
a breathless moment when a dull clang resounded 
throughout the cave and they knew not whether it was 
the sword or anvil that had shattered. But the moment 
was gone and they saw that the anvil had been cleft 
down to the stock and lay halved on the cavern floor. 
Siegfried shouted with joy. With arms outflung, he 
pointed the sword above him like a flaming torch. 
Only Mimir was calm, for he alone knew the impor- 


THE WELDING OF THE SWORD GRAM 


*39 


tance of testing a new sword in more ways than one. 

“The blade meets the test of hard stone, Siegfried. 
Now let us see if we can cleave what is soft and fine.” 

“What do you mean?” Siegfried asked. 

“There are subtler uses for a sword than cleaving 
rock, Siegfried,” Mimir answered and the knowledge 
of the greatest smith in the north could not be doubted. 

“Test the sword in any fashion you wish,” Siegfried 
cried proudly. 

“Come with me,” Mimir answered. “I should like 
to see the blade tried in one other manner and then I 
will accept its powers.” 

Siegfried followed the dwarf willingly for he knew 
that Mimir was well versed in the smallest details of 
his craft. They made their way through the forest 
until they came to the same river where Siegfried had 
raced a fish and Mimir had taught a certain ill-advised 
lesson in swimming. Mimir took from under his cloak 
a lock of finely spun wool. He tossed it into the river. 
There the wool swirled into an eddy of the whirlpool. 
It spun round and round furiously and was continually 
before their eyes for the tiny maelstrom forced it to the 
surface of the water. 

“The next time that the wool reaches this side of the 
eddy, put the edge of the sword in its path,” Mimir 
said. 

Siegfried obeyed his instructions. Leaning forward, 
he watched eagerly for the approach of the lock of wool 
sweeping along in its appointed channel. He had the 
sword ready in time. It scarcely touched the fleece 


140 


SIEGFRIED 


before the lock instantly parted, moving in two paths 
instead of one. The wool was split in two as surely as 
the hard anvil in the cavern had been. 

“The sword is truly tested now,” Mimir said. “No 
smithy in the land has ever turned forth such a blade as 
this. It cuts the strong and it cuts the fine. It gleams 
like gold and it burns like fire. Put the sword in a 
sheath, Siegfried, and let it see no light until it meets 
the light of Fafnir’s eyes and flaming mouth.” 

Again Siegfried obeyed. The words of the dwarf 
were words of wisdom. Nothing must dull the blade 
before it met that final testing—the killing of the 
fabulous dragon. 


Chapter 
XI 



FAFNIR, 
THE DRAGON 


,IMIR watched Siegfried 
anxiously. After the glorious moment of the testing of 
Gram, the dwarf had expected the next day would 
bring forth the journey to Glittering Heath where 
Fafnir’s haunt was. Instead, Siegfried seemed to have 
lost his impatience. A curious lassitude overcame him 
and he lay under the ash of Yggdrasil for hours at a 
time, staring into the blue twilight of the glade. He 
was like a knight who knows of his quest and prays 
before starting upon it. 

It was Mimir who was impatient now. He had 
waited for this moment since Siegfried was a small, 
naked baby as wild as the woods he had been reared 
in until that same child had grown to powerful man¬ 
hood. Not a day had passed that Mimir had not seen 
in his well the picture of a sprawling worm guarding a 
hoard that he wanted for himself. It was intolerable 
to wait for Siegfried. 

“Siegfried—have your dreams of other things taken 
the place of a vision I have kept before you since you 
were a child?” 

“Mimir, do not question me. Let this comfort your 
greedy heart. What I have promised I will hold to 
and never has it fallen from my memory.” 


141 


I 4 2 


SIEGFRIED 


The dangerous sternness in Siegfried’s eyes made 
Mimir slink away from him. And the dwarf was 
afraid. It was a new thing to see shadows on the face 
of Siegfried and veiled thoughts in his eyes. So Mimir 
waited the winter through. 

At last there came a day when the whole woods 
seemed to awaken. It was a day when animals of the 
forest came out in the open and the birds sang because 
it was spring. The trees were covered with pale green 
buds. The wind stirred softly. Mimir lay beside his 
well, lapping up the cool waters like a dog. He heard 
the voice of Siegfried coming through the woods. 

“Then said a crow; 

It sat alone on a bough, 

Why wilt thou, young Kon, 

Kill birds? 

Thou shouldst rather 

Horses ride 

And fell the host!* 

And Mimir scarcely dared to breathe as he waited 
for Siegfried to comment upon this song. 

“Well—you have heard the verse, Mimir. What do 
you think it advises?” 

“What do you think?” Mimir said slyly. 

“Find yourself a horse, silly gnome. We go at once 
toward the Glittering Heath. I have idled enough. 
The time has come for the killing of Fafnir and the 
taking of the hoard.” 

Mimir gave a cry of delight and hastened away to 
make ready. 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


M3 


Siegfried was left alone in the glade with Greyfell. 
He stroked the horse with gentle hands and whispered 
a song of flight to him: “Ah, my Greyfell—matchless 
steed—carry me to lands unknown, carry me to further 
quests. Do not let the Glittering Heath—glaring 
heath of terrible fame—end the song of Siegfried’s 
heart. Do not let the high red hills where the red gold 
hoard is hid, hide us too until we die.” Siegfried’s 
voice was a low murmurous chant. The soft eyes of 
the horse looked at his master with the intelligence of 
a human being. Siegfried kissed Greyfell between his 
eyes. It was the only tender gesture he had ever made. 

When Mimir came forth, mounted on a shining 
little mare, he found Siegfried upon Greyfell. Mimir 
searched the face of his companion anxiously but he 
saw again that Siegfried’s eyes were veiled and an 
expression of restraint played about his stern mouth. 
For a long time the two were to ride silently together. 

The road was between mountains and it wound 
toward more mountains. The rocky peaks were like 
high-washed billows of the sea. The way was hard 
going but Siegfried did not notice this because Greyfell 
carried him lightly over the steepest climbs while 
Mimir was forced to dismount at times and lead his 
mare up the mountainside. Siegfried finally spoke— 
it was to ask certain questions of the hoard. 

“When Fafnir is once dead, it means then that we 
have but to enter the mountain and find the gold?” 
Siegfried said. 

“Not quite so simply,” Mimir answered. “The 


M4 


SIEGFRIED 


mountainside, as I have told you, is the home of the 
Nibelung dwarfs who are called children of the mist. 
Alberich heads them, taking his orders from Fafnir. 
All they have done for many years is to play with the 
gold—increasing it by magic means and creating mar¬ 
velous jeweled ornaments from it. They may not 
willingly give up this hoard without a struggle. But 
they are a reasonable folk and once conquered will 
work for you or for me even as they have worked for 
Fafnir. The gold is as safe with them as it would be 
in a castle treasure room surrounded by many guards.” 

The thought of further barriers before the gold was 
reached filled Siegfried with zest. Not once did the 
thought cross his mind that he might not live to carry 
on a further duel with the Nibelung children. He 
pictured the battle—a haunting mysterious combat of 
mist-hidden faces and ghostly mocking voices. Once 
he had been caught in a fog near the seacoast. He 
remembered the marvel of his own confusion in groves 
that he could have sworn he knew as well as the grove 
where he had lived. Perhaps the mist that the Nibe- 
lungs used for their weapon would resemble that fog. 
It was this battle that Siegfried looked forward to— 
he tried not to think of the combat with the slimy 
dragon that must come first. 

At last in the distance they saw a mountain different 
from the rest. It was not as high but broader and 
steeper than any of the others. It looked like a great 
pile of grey bones. The rock was absolutely bare and 
there was no sign of anything green growing there. 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


i45 


Without questioning Mimir, Siegfried knew that the 
plain they crossed was the Glittering Heath and that 
this stark rock was the Nibelung mountain where 
Fafnir hid in his lair. The Heath itself was suggestive 
of its owner. Serpentine grasses grew tall and slimy 
in the marshy ground. At one end of the heath ran a 
murky river. They saw that a channel reached from 
the river to the mountain. It was a curiously rounded 
indentation as if someone had dragged a giant tree 
trunk through the yielding mire. They thought noth¬ 
ing of this until they reached the hill of rock and found 
that the channel continued on—a road in the stone, 
smooth and deep and hollow. 

They puzzled over this phenomenon for a moment. 
No element of nature had worn the rock down in a 
groove so perfectly fashioned. It was Mimir who 
guessed its meaning for the ways of the dwarf were 
subtle and thus could he read the subtleties of all things. 

“This is the mark of Fafnir’s great body as he wends 
his way from the mountaintop to the murky stream of 
water at the other end of the heath. By the greatest 
good luck we have stumbled upon it, Siegfried. It 
suggests a way to conquer the dragon.” 

“What way?” Siegfried was straightforward in his 
thoughts. He had pictured a duel facing the mighty 
monster, and not some sly stealing up upon his enemy. 

“You will never kill the dragon Fafnir by meeting 
him face to face,” Mimir said. “From his mouth he 
spews forth a foul poison that eats your skin even as it 
touches it. He can uproot trees by the thrashing of his 


146 


SIEGFRIED 


tail and his weight is so great he can make a bed for 
himself in rock as you have seen. Meet the monster as 
you meet a warrior and you die in any of these ways— 
crushed to a pulp, or tossed until your bones crack 
against each other, or made the meal of this horrid 
worm.” 

Siegfried shivered with distaste, but his eyes were 
still fearless as he turned to Mimir. 

“What can we do, then? You have brought me here 
knowing these things and yet you must have thought 
that there was some chance of vanquishing the 
dragon.” 

“The dragon has a heart—as vulnerable as your 
own,” Mimir said thoughtfully. “Reach his heart with 
the sword Gram and your battle is won.” 

“Where does his heart lie?” Siegfried said. 

“It lies below his white throat within that part of 
him that crawls along the ground. His flesh is the 
color of a damp grey puffball, the belly of a fish, the 
underside of a log, in this spot that never sees the light.” 

“And yet if I crawl beneath him I will be crushed,” 
Siegfried mused. 

“There is a way that you won’t be crushed,” Mimir 
said. “This channel has given me the clue. You must 
dig a deep pit just large enough for you to stand in. 
The pit is to be in the channel near the river. It will 
be so small a hole that to Fafnir’s eyes it will look like 
nothing but a dark spot. He will crawl over it and 
when the pale grey of his underside is above you, you 
will thrust your sword through to his heart.” 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


J 47 

Siegfried thought for a moment. It was the ugliest 
scheme he had ever taken part in. He hated it passion¬ 
ately and he longed to refuse to fight so cowardly a 
battle. But he knew that Mimir saw things truthfully. 
If the dwarf said that he could not kill Fafnir in any 
ordinary form of duel, it was so. 

“I should like to spy upon the dragon before I meet 
him,” Siegfried said. 

But Mimir denied him this, saying that Fafnir had 
eyes in every part of him and he would detect their 
hiding place. So Siegfried obeyed and sent Greyfell 
off with Mimir to the other end of the heath while 
he himself set about digging a pit with his sword at the 
bottom of the trench where Fafnir came daily down to 
the stream to drink. 

Siegfried had been digging for a long time and at 
last he satisfied himself that the pit was deep enough 
for him to stand without touching the dragon’s body as 
it moved on its course above him. He jumped from the 
pit and looked about him to see where Mimir had 
gone. The heath was bathed in dusk. The mountain 
wall rose like a slatey cloud. Near the mountain top a 
glow of light came from behind a ridge of rock. Sieg¬ 
fried guessed that this must be the reflection of the fiery 
mouth of the dragon. Everything was peaceful and 
still. Siegfried paced restlessly up and down. He felt 
as if he were waiting for a storm to break. 

As he stood there in the dusk, thoughtfully and 
courageously waiting, a figure moved toward him. It 
was an old man wearing a long mantle and a dark 


SIEGFRIED 


148 

brimmed hat. He approached Siegfried so gently that 
the boy looked up and saw him without having heard 
him come. Siegfried did not fear, for he knew that 
this was Odin who stood before him, once more in 
the guise of a wanderer. 

“Siegfried—you have had sorry council from Mimir. 
If you dig but one pit all the blood of the dragon will 
gush down and cover you and you will drown therein 
even as a man dies when he cannot breath under 
water.” 

Siegfried hung his head when he learned of his 
stupidity. He felt no hatred of Mimir for this trickery 
but rather a profound disdain that he had not seen 
through the plot. He saw it all now—why Mimir had 
not cared whether Siegfried owned a sword that would 
stand against the dragon’s hide or not. The dwarf had 
wished not only for Fafnir’s death but Siegfried’s own 
death as well. 

“Do not be discouraged,” the Wanderer continued. 
“Mimir’s idea of a pit was a good one, but he did not 
tell you the whole of the plan because he did not wish 
you to escape. You must dig a trench from your pit to 
another pit and from thence to the safety of the earth 
above ground.” 

“Will I have time to do this before the dragon comes 
this way?” Siegfried asked. 

“The hour chosen by Fafnir to drag himself along 
this path to the river is early dawn. You have a whole 
night ahead of you. It would be well to rest a little if 
you can.” 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


149 


Siegfried smiled gratefully at the old man. Odin 
touched the brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell. 
He vanished as he had come, as swiftly and quietly 
as the passing of the wind. 

Siegfried toiled again to dig a trench and another 
pit where he might race to safety ahead of the river of 
blood that would follow the death stroke. The ground 
was heavy and wet and the boy soon tore off his raw- 
hide jacket. He labored for a long time and when the 
cold moon rose high in the heavens its gleam showed 
his body shining with sweat. Siegfried lay down in the 
bottom of the trench and he and his sword seemed both 
alike—naked and silver and ready for a fierce endeavor. 
He buried his face in his arms to try to rest. And as 
he lay there concerned with his own adventures, the 
distant fates lifted their hands and reached out toward 
him. A linden leaf floated lazily down from a tree 
near-by. It fell between the shoulders of the young 
Volsung. There it stuck fast, held by the moist 
warmth of his skin—and willed there by the three 
Norns. 

There was no sleep that night for Siegfried. He 
brooded and watched the starry sky as he waited for the 
streaks of dawn to appear. He saw the sky lighten 
until it was a soft grey that might have been early eve¬ 
ning as well as early day. He heard a distant groaning 
and rumbling. Hurrying into the pit that was dug 
beneath the muddy groove where Fafnir came, Sieg¬ 
fried stood with his sword ready for that moment when 
the body of the dragon pushed its way over his head. 


I 5 0 


SIEGFRIED 


The waiting was more fearful than if he could have 
faced the beast. The earth shook and the air was filled 
with a strong smell of sulphur from the vast cavity of 
the dragon’s mouth. Fumes of smoke floated ahead 
of the dragon as he made his way to the watering place, 
warning Siegfried of his coming. Suddenly it seemed 
to Siegfried as if the light of day had been blotted out 
by an immediate night covering all things. The sky 
—now softly pink—above the pit was lost, first in 
yellowish fumes and then in a slimy black undulating 
body. Siegfried felt no fear. He was calm and alert, 
watching for the greyish white spot that marked the 
place where Fafnir’s heart was hidden. Simultaneously 
he saw and thrust. The deluge of blood that covered 
him from head to foot made his body burn like fire so 
that he instinctively drew back and found himself in 
the safety of the trench that led to the other pit and the 
fair earth again. The dragon’s blood had touched 
every part of Siegfried’s body save the spot between his 
shoulders where a linden leaf had fallen. 

Siegfried stayed in the other pit until the most fear¬ 
ful of Fafnir’s death thrashing was over. He saw the 
grasses uprooted and flung into the air. He heard the 
bubbling of the stream as the poisonous venom from 
the dragon’s mouth spouted into it. At last Siegfried 
raised himself cautiously from the pit and turned to see 
what manner of thing he had slain. 

He saw a creature that seemed made of countless 
coils. It was doubled into thick and loathsome folds, 
with a tail that lifted itself in winding whorls like a 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


*5* 

continuously moving spiral. From a yawning mouth’ 
of fire a three-forked tongue flickered and leaped like 
the tentacle of a deep-sea monster. There were jagged 
teeth that seemed the least of dangers beside the count¬ 
less subtle terrors of spouting poison and gaseous va¬ 
pors that fumed from its mouth and tail. The body 
of the beast was so heavy and armored with such scaly 
horn that Siegfried could see how easily the channel 
must have been hollowed in the ground. Had an army 
of men beaten its path with iron weapons, it would 
have been much the same as the moving of Fafnir’s 
body over the rock. 

Even yet the dragon unwound its tail in many direc¬ 
tions, uprooting trees and spiraling to heaven in a 
terrible appeal to the gods for help. Siegfried dared 
at last to come near the dying beast. 

“Who are you?” Fafnir said when he saw the strong 
naked fighter before him. “Who is your father and 
what is your kin that were so hardy they could bear one 
who held a weapon against me to my undoing?” 

Siegfried remembered that a dying man could throw 
a curse upon his enemy, so he failed to answer Fafnir’s 
question. 

“Unknown to men is my kin,” he said. 

Fafnir raised his head in fury once again. “Fear not 
—I will not harm you. It is too late, and besides, the 
ring of Andvari carries its curse of death to you. Do 
not lie to Fafnir. Tell who you are and who egged you 
on to this deed? How did you dare to come before me 
whom all folk fear?” 


SIEGFRIED 


152 

Siegfried answered: “My name is Siegfried and I 
am called the last of the Volsungs. A hardy heart 
urged me on to this deed and this sharp sword stood 
me in good stead in the doing of the deed as you well 
know.” 

Fafnir looked more fearful than ever. “You lie to 
me, for the Volsungs are all dead. You could not have 
come upon this quest alone and you have no father to 
have urged you. Tell me before I die what dishonest 
soul urged you to this deed and yet did not attend you 
in the fight?” 

Siegfried refused to speak. He did not wish to hide 
behind Mimir in this battle. Let Fafnir die without 
ever knowing that his own brother planned the deed. 
But as so often happens, in the moment of death all 
things become clear and every mystery is solved. Faf¬ 
nir cried out: 

“Mimir, my brother, has wrought my end and it 
gladdens my heart that he will cause yours likewise.” 

“And what is it all for—gold and treasure that has 
brought you no happiness?” Siegfried said sadly. 

“I give you this counsel,” Fafnir answered. “Take 
your horse and ride away as speedily as you can. For 
if you ride to my lair you will find other dangers stand 
between you and the treasure. Should you finally gain 
possession of it, it shall be your bane and the bane of 
every other one who owns it. The curse of Andvari is 
not dead. His ring will mark your death no matter 
how brave or good you are, for the curse of a dwarf 
lingers.” 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


i 53 


Then Siegfried answered moodily, “I would take my 
horse and ride homeward, Fafnir, losing all that 
wealth if I deemed that by the losing I should never 
die. But we must all leave this earth at the time the 
Norns decree. Valhalla awaits, a silver hall with Odin 
at the door. The Valkyries are riding in the clouds. 
Some day I wish to see them. I shall die—perchance 
by the subtle action of Andvari’s curse but more than 
likely in some other way.” 

“Your words are proud and careless as befits the last 
of a long line of brave men,” said Fafnir. “For them 
I will tell you something it would be well for you to 
know. Your body has been bathed in my death blood. 
Look at it.” 

Siegfried with some distaste surveyed his shining 
skin. He found that it looked little different, perhaps 
a richer brown with a more satiny feel than before. 

“The blood must have been washed away,” he said. 

“Nay—the blood has been absorbed. Your skin 
looks and feels no different than before but truly it is 
as horny now as mine. Your body is invulnerable to 
any weapon. Men of the northlands are called by their 
most distinguishing feature—Harald Fairhair, Bjorn 
Blue-Tooth and so on—thus you will be known among 
men as Horned Siegfried from this day forth.” 

A moment later Fafnir fell dead—a vast heap of 
bulbous flesh and scales like sheets of iron. And Sieg¬ 
fried who stood marveling at the words the dragon had 
said, called loudly to Mimir to come forth from his 
hiding place. 


154 


SIEGFRIED 


Mimir walked from behind the bushes with a sullen 
look on his face. But the words he uttered were the 
words that bondsmen use for heroes. “Hail, lord and 
master, a noble victory is this slaying of Fafnir. None 
other has dared to cross his path and now this deed of 
fame will be renowned over all the earth.” 

“Mimir—did you hear what he said of me—that I 
shall be known as Horned Siegfried from this day 
forth, and that his blood gushing over me has made me 
invulnerable?” 

Mimir was filled with hate. It was not enough that 
Siegfried had conquered but he had been rewarded as 
well. The dwarf looked with eyes of resentment upon 
the glorious bronze body of Siegfried. And even as he 
looked, his eyes were filled with craftiness. He saw 
where the leaf had fallen on Siegfried’s shoulder and 
had kept that spot clean of Fafnir’s blood. Here might 
a sword’s point strike and kill. So Mimir learned the 
secret of Siegfried’s vulnerable spot and began at once 
to plan his destruction. 

“Siegfried, you have killed my brother,” Mimir said 
gloomily. 

Siegfried laughed happily. “But why do you say 
this sadly, silly gnome? Was it not your wish that I 
carried out?” 

“Ah yes, but guilt lies on my soul,” Mimir pretended 
to grieve. “Grant me a boon and do a little thing that 
it will not hurt you to do for your old master,” Mimir 
whined. 

“What is it?” Siegfried said. 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


155 


“Cut out the heart of the dragon and roast it. I wish 
to eat it as a sacrifice to my brother.” 

Siegfried thought this request was very odd, but he 
bent over the dragon and cut out the heart and then he 
began to build a fire so that he might roast the heart 
as Mimir desired. 

And Mimir wrought his evil plan. At the moment 
when Siegfried put down his sword to take the roasting 
heart from the fire with both hands, Mimir decided he 
would creep upon him and strike him in the one vul¬ 
nerable spot on his shoulder. But a strange fate inter¬ 
vened. As the heart began to roast the blood bubbled 
and spat upon Siegfried’s fingers. The burn was so 
great that he put his fingers to his mouth to cool them 
and at once he began to hear strange voices. These 
were the voices of the wood-creatures who had not 
spoken to him since the day when he went to live with 
Mimir. Once more he understood them! He heard 
the voice of all fowls and the woodpeckers chattering 
in the brake beside him. For a moment he was so 
overjoyed, he scarcely heeded their words, but then 
the full import of what they said came upon him: 

“Siegfried. Behind you stands Mimir, ready to 
beguile the man who trusts him.” 

“The dragon has told you you are invulnerable but 
there is one spot on your shoulder where a linden leaf 
fell that was kept clean of the blood that has rendered 
your skin horny. Mimir awaits the moment you put 
down Gram to bury the point in this vulnerable part 


156 


SIEGFRIED 


The song of a thrush came from across the marsh 
and the words it sang were: 

“Wise would you be to kill Mimir before he kills 
you, for the dwarf is craftier in his thoughts than you 
are in yours. Should you outwit him this time, there 
will be another moment when he steals upon you.” 

“Will you let Mimir live to eat of the dragon’s heart 
and gain more wisdom than ever before? He will 
spread destruction. Drunk with the power of gold, he 
will go out among men with his evil thoughts.” 

All this happened in the space of a second. Siegfried 
determined to test Mimir. He pretended to lean to¬ 
ward the fire and put down his sword at the same 
moment. But he did not let loose of the handle. At 
once Mimir leaped forward and reached for the sword. 
Siegfried swerved to meet the terrified surprise in the 
dwarf’s eyes. 

“Ah, Mimir, the time is unborn when you shall be 
my bane. Nay, rather one road shall both you brothers 
take.” The sword Gram pierced the heart of the dwarf 
and Siegfried tossed him into the channel with Fafnir. 
Blood had filled the groove and Mimir sank in the sea 
of red. Siegfried stood appalled at what he had done. 
The fearful sight before him made him turn away in 
disgust. How ugly a death for Mimir! And yet had 
not the dwarf always known ugly things rather than 
beautiful ones? As far back as Siegfried could 
remember, Mimir had always been afraid, and had 
walked cringingly in the face of life. This thing that 
had happened to him was a fitting end. 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


157 


Quickly Siegfried tasted of the heart of the dragon 
that he might endow himself with more than mortal 
wisdom, and strode swiftly away from this scene of 
horror. As he walked toward Greyfell, the voices of 
the birds came to him again and he paused in the 
heather bushes to listen to what they said: 

The first was a woodpecker and he sang: 

"Bind thou, Siegfried 
The bright red rings! 9 

And Siegfried knew that they told him to go and 
take the treasure, hidden in the mountainside. 

Another woodpecker sang: 

“A high hall is there 
Reared upon Hindfell, 

Without all around it 
Sweeps the red flame aloft! 9 

And Siegfried did not understand the meaning of 
this song, and so he asked: “Why do you tell me of 
Hindfell? What is it and who dwells there?” 

And the voice of the birds told him of a glorious 
Valkyrie called Brynhild who had disobeyed Odin’s 
words and let a warrior live who was doomed to die. 
To punish her, Odin had given her a sleep-thorn and 
made her a captive at Hindfell, a wonder of halls. She 
was guarded by a ring of fire that no one could pass. 
The chorus of voices said: 


i 5 8 


SIEGFRIED 


“Go there, Siegfried. It would be wise for you to 
take a part of the treasure from the lair and ride your 
horse Greyfell to this maiden. Much wisdom would 
you learn and much beauty would you see.” 

Siegfried listened quietly but the voices died out like 
the crying surf on the shore or the low melancholy 
sound of a rainy wind. The first thing to do was to 
enter the mountainside and see what foe awaited him 
within and what treasure was there for the taking. 

Mounting Greyfell, Siegfried followed the trail of 
the worm Fafnir until he reached an immense ledge of 
rock. He saw that this was an abiding place. There 
was a great door with a gateway wrought of the finest 
ironwork and through the lacy pattern he could see 
the beams of a house that was dug down in the rock. 
Siegfried dismounted from Greyfell and tried the iron 
doors, but he found that they were barred fast. He 
soon realized this was not the entrance that Fafnir used 
to gain the inside of the mountain. No entrance such 
as this could harbour the passing of that great scaly 
monster lying dead on the heath beneath. So Siegfried 
followed the ledge around to another side of the moun¬ 
tain. He crept cautiously, hoping that he might come 
upon the opening unnoticed. He held the sword 
Gram tightly for he knew that therein lay his strength. 
Suddenly he rounded a jutting rock and stopped in 
amazement. The hill stood open before him. He 
could see great fires inside with countless little dwarfs 
working at the forges and he could hear a clinking and 
clatter of iron and steel. On the cavern floors were 


FAFNIR—THE DRAGON 


159 


heaps of tawny gold, and the scarlet and blue and green 
of precious jewels shone forth in the most fantastic 
manner from rocky ledges and heaps of dark earth. 
Long strings of golden coins slipped through the hands 
of the pigmies who counted the treasure, and here and 
there darted a singular little figure with a crown on his 
head. All this Siegfried saw before he was discovered. 


Chapter 

M 


w 


THE CHILDREN 
OF THE MIST 


HEN the little men saw Sieg¬ 
fried they dropped what they were doing and gathered 
together facing him. Siegfried surveyed the diminutive 
forms with amusement. The pigmies were about two 
feet high, but their long pointed beards seemed to bend 
them still nearer to the earth. Their thin straight 
legs were brown and hairy as a goat’s and curled shoes 
like Mimir’s protected their feet from the cavern 
floors. Some of them had very bright eyes that were 
as impertinent and curious as those of the squirrel, 
Ratatosk, but others drooped like Nidhog the worm, 
heavy-lidded and full of sleep. The three who wore 
the golden crowns upon their odd, bird-like heads were 
in the center of the assembly and seemed to command 
the others. They stared at Siegfried and he in turn 
stared back at them. 

“Do something about him!” he heard one of the 
crowned dwarfs order. 

“Yes, quickly—at once, do something about him,” 
the other crowned dwarfs chimed in. “Plainly—some¬ 
thing must be done.” 

The whole line of dwarfs bobbed their heads in 
agreement as they passed the word along, “Do some¬ 
thing about him.” 


160 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 161 

But they all waited for the other one to start and so 
nothing was done. Finally Siegfried, smiling to him¬ 
self, decided to help them out. 

“Who are you?” he thundered. 

They all jumped as if someone had poked them in 
the ribs. And the crowned heads drew together in 
conference. One of them said: 

“That is exactly what we were deciding to ask you.” 

“Who are you?” chorused the dwarfs in answer to 
a signal from the leaders. 

“I am a hero,” Siegfried said mischievously. 

“You know what heroes are for?” said the crowned 
heads. 

“What for?” Siegfried asked. 

With extreme gravity one of the dwarfs stepped 
forward. He held a golden book in his hand and 
Siegfried saw that it was made of thin sheets of pure 
metal and that runes were engraved on it. 

“Answer his question,” ordered one of the three 
crowned dwarfs haughtily. 

“The gods first created the dwarfs, creatures of great 
cunning, who have dominion over the interior of the 
earth. They live in the hollow hills and possess unbe¬ 
lievable riches in gold and gems. They have been 
granted nobility. For their servants the gods created 
giants, less wise, but powerful enough to slay dragons 
and to protect the dwarfs. Then they created heroes 
who were made to come to the assistance of the dwarfs 
against such giants who proved unfaithful.” 

“So you think that I have come to your assistance?” 


SIEGFRIED 


162 

Siegfried said proudly. “I have had enough to do with 
silly gnomes. It is you who will henceforth obey my 
word.” 

“Where is Fafnir?” cried the dwarfs. 

“Fafnir lies dead upon Glittering Heath and I have 
come for the hoard of Andvari that now belongs to 
me. I am called Horned Siegfried from this day on.” 

“Hero you may be, but the dwarfs are wiser than any 
hero. We will not do homage to you until you have 
conquered us,” said one of the dwarfs. 

“What manner of combat do you choose?” Siegfried 
said. 

“Patience—there is much to be said before we kill 
you,” scoffed the dwarfs. 

A small pigmy came and stood in front of Siegfried. 

“Hail, Siegfried,” the pigmy said. “You have told 
us who you are. Let us tell you who we are. This is 
Alberich, the king of the dwarfs, and next to him, 
wearing the golden crowns of their birth are Nibelung 
and Shilbung, sons of a mighty king. They love the 
treasure of gems and silver and gold more than any¬ 
thing in life and they will fight for it until you die. Do 
you wish to surrender peaceably? If so we will let you 
continue on your way unharmed because you have rid 
us of the dragon Fafnir.” 

“If there is talk of surrender it shall be from you,” 
Siegfried replied haughtily. 

“Call the giants,” Nibelung ordered. 

Siegfried had never seen a giant. He stood his 
ground easily, with a smile of careless ease playing 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 163 

about his mouth. Two things fortified him—the 
sword with its blade of icy sternness and the invulner¬ 
ability that his horned skin had given him. 

The giants came in lumberingly. Their great heads 
were hoary and rugged like giant oak trees in the 
forest, gnarled and thickly built. They were stupid 
creatures who followed unquestioningly every com¬ 
mand of their masters. There were three giants—each 
a sworn thrall of Alberich, Nibelung and Shilbung. 

“You are to fight in hand-to-hand combat with this 
hero,” Alberich ordered. “Begin—Boar-tooth—and 
then in turn each one of you may have a thrust at this 
smart fellow.” 

The giants whipped out swords that had been made 
in the mountain smithy to fit their size—the longest 
swords that Siegfried had ever seen. Gram, that was 
seven spans long, seemed like a needle beside them. 
Siegfried knew he must be cautious of one thing alone 
—his vulnerable shoulder. It must be turned away 
from his opponents. 

The strange and ill-matched fight began. Siegfried 
sang and talked as he thrust. The giants stood 
stupidly, striking out blindly in the direction where 
Siegfried was supposed to be. The young man danced 
all around them. His bright hair was the spot of light 
toward which their swords were aimed. It became an 
elusive goal. Later the king of the dwarfs swore that 
he saw the swords of his giant thralls actually touch the 
will-o-the-wisp hero, but as Siegfried remained alive 
without scar or wound no one believed Alberich. 


164 


SIEGFRIED 


At last the first man fell—a hideous death, plunging 
from a narrow ledge that ran outside the cavern to the 
sickening depths of the valley below. Siegfried had 
backed him to the dangerous position, and the clumsy 
giant had at once lost his balance. As he fell he 
groaned loudly and the mountain shook as his immense 
body clattered against its sides. The other giants 
apparently had neither feelings nor wits for they 
seemed unaffected by the tragedy. 

But Alberich urged them on to further combat. 
Once more the duel of the giants and the dancing hero 
began. Heavy-footed and slow, the great man tried to 
follow the shadow-like movements of the graceful 
Siegfried. They saw only the space which he had 
occupied the moment before they thrust. The light 
patter of his skin shoes was the faint tattoo of a battle- 
drum that drives a warrior to madness. The slow 
anger of the giants burned and they were blinder with 
rage than they had been in their stupidity. It was an 
easy thing for Siegfried to slash one man through—to 
toss him over to lie with his ill-fated companion in the 
valley below. The third giant continued the dogged, 
purposeless blows that would never win for him a 
victory. Alberich called sharply: 

“Enough—Boar-tooth. You began this duel—now 
end it. Return to the den in the hillside. A subtler 
means of battling than your clumsy spearings is needed 
to conquer this foe.” 

“But I am not your foe. I simply desire to be your 
master in place of the worm Fafnir,” Siegfried said. 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 


165 


Almost at once a curious impenetrable vapour began 
to float throughout the cavern. It was the most bewil¬ 
dering mist that Siegfried had ever seen. It moved 
continuously in soft rolling clouds. It was not at all 
like the poisonous yellow fumes that had warned Sieg¬ 
fried of the dragon’s coming. There was something 
sleepy and almost pleasant about this fog. Siegfried 
felt his eyes drooping, and he roused himself with a 
great effort. He knew that great danger lay in falling 
asleep. The shifting mist not only hid the countless 
dwarfs that Siegfried could hear moving softly about 
him, but it also reflected his own visage so that he saw 
himself in all parts of the cavern—dilated, multiplied, 
exaggerated. There stood a tall thin Siegfried writh¬ 
ing in a twisting scroll of mist that curled upward like 
thin blue smoke. Here was a broad Siegfried with 
absurd short legs that might have belonged to one of 
the pigmies instead of to a magnificently made man. 
Siegfried heard—rather than felt the swords strike 
against his body. Sometimes the point of a spear 
touched his hand and he bent it back easily. Although 
his skin felt no different, it was as hard as mountain 
rock. Time and again he heard a low moan as the 
sword Gram cut its way home to the heart of a pigmy 
lost in the mist. The sword cut as well blindly as it did 
in the full light of day. The battle endured for a long 
time. It was silent for the most part, with an occasional 
moan as a wounded dwarf gave up or the sharp clang 
of steel meeting steel in unexpected nearness. Siegfried 
was mystified. He was in no danger, but he did not 


166 


SIEGFRIED 


see how he could conquer the army of Alberich if the 
mist clouds continued to shelter them. He had half 
expected the vapours to clear away, but they rolled and 
billowed about him as persistently as ever. Sometimes 
the clouds lifted for a moment and he saw the on¬ 
slaught of tiny men. It was a sight for mirth and not 
for misgiving. He could crush the dwarfs with one 
stamp of his foot. At last he lost patience with the 
battle. 

“Where are you now—watch out, I’ll step on you, 
little ants!” he shouted. 

They mocked him lightly with laughter that might 
have been the voice of an echo instead of flesh and 
blood. 

“Hie away—Siegfried—to where the heath glitters 
and the moor lies as clear as a brook. There you can 
see what you chase and chase what you see.” 

“Your laughter comes too soon,” he warned them 
angrily. 

“But not too near,” they chuckled in retort. 

The outcome of the fight seemed to belong to neither 
side. Perhaps it would have been settled with a peace 
oath—perhaps it would have been a duel of endurance 
rather than a duel of death—had not one pigmy sought 
glory and opened the way for defeat. His name was 
Melody because he could not ever keep still. His voice 
sang above the beating of hammer and the noise of 
all voices. He sang at night and he always sang of 
unimportant things. And so as he fought with the 
others, he forgot to obey the instructions of Alberich 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 


167 


for silence. He began to hum a gay inconsequential 
tune. Straight toward the voice Siegfried swerved, 
reached out his hand and grasped tightly the tiny 
spectre. He had actually caught a dwarf. He felt the 
imp scratching and kicking and biting like a trapped 
animal. In the struggle, the dwarfs cap fell to the 
ground and he stood before Siegfried, shivering and 
afraid. He had become entirely visible! The mist 
rolled and shifted all about him but it did not cover 
him. In a flash Siegfried bent and put the cap upon 
his own head. He scarcely knew what to expect but he 
knew that some clue to the mysterious fog lay in this 
cap that the dwarf had discarded. At once he could 
see everything. It was as if there were no mist and yet 
he had no doubt that if he removed the cap it would 
hang as thickly as a curtain before him. It was an easy 
task to tease the dwarfs now—poking them in the ribs, 
knocking their caps off and seeing their frightened 
bewilderment as they were caught in their own trap. 
It was not long before Alberich called Nibelung and 
Shilbung to him. In a panic they discussed the alarm¬ 
ing stranger. And at last Siegfried heard the welcome 
sound of their beseechings. 

“Do not kill us. We will do as you will.” 

“Take off your caps, then,” Siegfried ordered. 

They obeyed him and the hollow hillside was just 
as it had been before. There was no sign of the veil of 
mist beyond the thin trailing wisps that rolled out of the 
cavern and down the mountainside like smoke from a 
dying fire. 


168 


SIEGFRIED 


“Tell me the mystery of the fog,” Siegfried ordered. 

“We are called the children of the mist,” Alberich 
answered. 

“But what have these caps to do with it?” Siegfried 
asked. 

“They are called tarn-caps,” Shilbung answered, “a 
sort of fog-cap they are, creating a heavy mist that 
renders the wearer invisible.” 

“I will never be without one again,” Siegfried 
smiled. 

“Are you going to turn yourself into a worm to 
guard the hoard?” asked Nibelung. 

Siegfried looked stern and turned to the speaker with 
eyes of disgust. 

“Nay—I do not love this treasure, understand that 
now. I wish to be its master because another owner 
might use it to no good. Are you willing to be my 
thralls and work with it and play with it as you did in 
Fafnir’s time.” 

“Yes—we will swear an oath of fidelity to any owner 
of the hoard if he but lets us keep the gold. The gold 
is our life and the jewels are our joy.” 

Siegfried smiled happily. He saw that he need not 
fear any treachery among them. They loved their 
craft more than anything on earth. As long as he left 
them with their vast supplies of unalloyed metals, their 
forges, their mining, their treasure house, they would 
be as pleased as the simple-hearted fawns were when 
their wise old mother found them a new place to play. 

“I will leave all of the hoard in your keeping save a 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 169 

few gifts that I wish to take with me on a journey,” 
Siegfried said. 

“Let us swear our oath of faithfulness to you,” Albe- 
rich cried. 

Siegfried looked long into the dwarf’s eyes. For a 
moment he mistrusted him. For a moment there was 
a striking resemblance to Mimir in the other’s face. 
But then he saw they were alike and—yet vastly 
unlike. Where Mimir had been crafty, Alberich was 
merely mischievous. Where Mimir had been wise, 
Alberich was impudent. 

“Swear me an oath, then, Alberich. Let every other 
dwarf listen and each one of you shall echo the words 
of Alberich in your own hearts.” 

Alberich stood up, twisting his long skinny hands 
nervously, and dangling in front of the magnificent 
body of Siegfried, he said: 

“I call Nibelung and Shilbung as my witnesses to 
this oath that if I should betray Siegfried and fail to 
guard the hoard, I shall be outcast from all good men 
and the gods above and the enchanted folk of the ash 
of Yggdrasil and shall be driven away by every man as 
far as the were-wolf is driven. So be it, as fire burns, 
earth produces, mother bears son, ships glide, shields 
glitter, sun shines, snow falls, fir grows, a hawk flies, a 
worm crawls, Alberich shall guard Andvari’s hoard 
for Horned Siegfried.” 

“You must come with us and see our underground 
treasure houses,” said Nibelung. 

“Bring the torches,” ordered Shilbung. 


170 


SIEGFRIED 


There was the scurry of many feet as the dwarfs 
disappeared through the fissures of rock like countless 
little beasts running for their dark holes. Soon they 
returned and their torches were precious jewels and 
pieces of phosphorus that shone like no light Siegfried 
had ever seen before. There was the silver sheen of 
moonlight and the wierd colorings of the northern 
sky. Siegfried had to bend his tall body as he passed 
through low winding corridors. From time to time 
they emerged in small chambers that seemed studded 
with jewels. They entered halls that were galleries of 
vases: gold vessels with dragon handles made of golden 
threads and the whorl design of a dragon’s tail for the 
motif design. Siegfried found diadems of gold, spiral 
bracelets bright with jewels, long strands of amber 
beads and weapons of gold. Another room was filled 
with bronze—vessels and urns, pails, pincers, graceful 
horns with fancy chains of intricate pattern attached, 
knives of curious shape with representations of sun and 
fish and ships and serpents upon them. There were 
handles of swords ready to be chosen, stiff with gems 
and hundreds of spear heads, each made with such care 
it seemed created for some single purpose. When 
Siegfried came to the chamber of swords he held 
tightly to Gram, for it seemed to him that his own 
enchanted sword quivered with eagerness and nearly 
leaped from its sheath to show its prowess in this noble 
company. 

When they had returned to the hall that opened on 
to the hillside, Alberich said: 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 


171 

“What fair jewels have you seen that you desire to 
take with you, master?” 

Siegfried smiled. “Not many, Alberich—tell your 
men to fill the two chests that are made from single 
slabs of sapphire with jewels and gold pieces. For 
myself, I will take—a tarn-cap first of all.” 

They laughed merrily when they saw the twinkle 
in his eye. And they brought him the magic cap that 
looked like an old gray hood. Little did Siegfried 
know how strange a part it was to play in his life. He 
stuffed it unceremoniously into his pocket. 

“Next I wish the golden hauberk that you say is the 
lightest and most beautiful coat-of-mail in the north- 
lands” 

They brought him the coat of mail and he donned 
it, longing suddenly for at least the trappings of a 
battle. 

“And one thing more—,” he hesitated with a mock¬ 
ing smile on his lips. One by one they brought him 
other treasures—a shield like a silver moon—a helmet 
carved from a single golden topaz. But he waved these 
things away. 

“Surely you have guessed that it is the accursed ring 
of Andvari that I wish,” he said. 

Gloom descended over the hall. In the brief time 
that he had been with them, the dwarfs had become 
fond of Siegfried. They wished him no ill. But they 
saw that he meant what he said, and they brought him 
the bright gold ring that glittered like the highlights 
in a wild beast’s eyes. 


I 7 2 


SIEGFRIED 


For a moment the young hero searched the lights of 
the ring with defiant fearlessness. But suddenly with¬ 
out warning, Alberich saw Siegfried shiver from head 
to foot, and a strange look came into his eyes as if he 
had beheld some dread thing. 

It was time to be gone. Siegfried led the way to the 
rocky promontory where Greyfell awaited his coming. 
A procession of dwarfs followed him, bearing the two 
sapphire chests filled with gems. The golden hauberk 
flamed in the sun. Siegfried laughed and sang in high 
merriment. Greyfell neighed, impatient to be off. 
The noble animal pawed the earth and curvetted and 
pranced. Then Siegfried loaded the two azure chests 
upon his back. 

“It is a great load for a horse,” mused Nibelung. 

“Aye—but not for Greyfell,” Siegfried said proudly. 

Then Siegfried took his horse by the bridle to lead 
him away and waved farewell for the last time. But 
to his amazement Greyfell would not move. The cur¬ 
vetting was done—the dancing horse was as still as 
a rock. 

“His load is too heavy, as I said,” Nibelung cried. 

“Nay—his load is not heavy enough,” Siegfried 
touched the silky grey horse lovingly. “Greyfell will 
not let his master travel on foot.” Siegfried jumped on 
the horse’s back. In front of him were the heavy 
chests, and yet Greyfell ran lightly now as if he carried 
no burden at all. 

The children of the mist watched him with wonder 
in their eyes. Ah what a master of the treasure he 


THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST 


*73 


would be instead of the frightful worm who had 
brooded all day over his hoard. 

“There is a mare tied to a tree down on the heath,” 
Siegfried called back to them as he galloped away, 
“You may have it for your own.” 

They started with amazement. Whose mare could 
it be and where was the rider? Surely Siegfried had 
not brought another horse with him when he had 
Greyfell who could carry the load of two animals with 
ease! They hurried down the mountainside in a long 
winding procession. And when they had dared to 
cross the heath that was red with blood, they looked for 
the last time upon the frightful body of the dead Fafnir 
—and there beside him they saw the famous dwarf 
Mimir. He was the greatest smith in the northlands 
and a dwarf like themselves. It was his horse, then, 
and he had no further use for the mare now. The 
children of the mist were subdued. The curse of 
Andvari’s ring had worked twice in a single day. With 
one thought in their minds, they turned and looked 
over the great heath. Shielding their eyes from the 
bright sun, they made out a faint speck on the horizon. 
The sun gleamed for a moment and the spot of light 
was like another sun. They knew that this was 
Greyfell carrying his golden-haired rider away. The 
children of the mist were sad. Would Siegfried too 
meet his death? All had seen him as he waved fare¬ 
well. The ring of Andvari had blazed upon his 


BRYNHILD 



Ghapter 

w 


NCE more Siegfried sank 
into a mood of lassitude and depression. He had killed 
and found no glory in the killing. His first impulse 
was to return to the court of Hjalprek. He thought 
that he wanted the cheers of the noblemen and the 
praise of the king. He would be proclaimed a hero. 
Sagas and songs would be sung of Horned Siegfried. 
Then when the feasting and rejoicing was done he 
would gather his army together and set sail for Goth¬ 
land to avenge his father’s death and the treachery 
against his grandfather. 

But the thought of more fighting deterred him. He 
would wait a little longer until the sight of blood would 
not recall that frightful red channel that had been left 
on the glittering heath. So Greyfell wandered where 
he willed. The horse turned naturally to the forests, 
and riding through the glades one day Siegfried heard 
the grating sound of a woodpecker’s voice. It reminded 
him of the voices he had heard when he tasted the 
dragon’s heart. What was it they had said of a certain 
place called Hindfell? 

Would a journey through a wall of fire to save a 
sleeping maiden be a pleasing adventure? From what 
Siegfried had seen of the maidens at the court of Hjal- 


174 


BRYNHILD 


*75 


prek they were meek-faced creatures with little soul. 
But Brynhild was a Valkyrie! Did that mean she did 
not resemble at all the maidens of the earth? She had 
disobeyed the great Odin. How great must be her 
courage! But did she have the disposition of a shrew? 
Siegfried mused idly upon these things. But he had 
little idea of how to reach Hindfell and the thought 
of riding to a village and asking the way was not to 
his liking. So he wandered along aimlessly, putting 
the thought from his mind. 

And now his loneliness became unbearable. It filled 
him with a proud bitterness. He would never confess 
to another how much he needed a companion. When 
he rode in lonely places he talked to himself and the 
sound of his voice singing its songs unanswered, filled 
him with immeasurable sadness. Why had he not 
been born to the ordinary ways of men—living in a 
court, learning his idrottir with the sons of chieftains 
and growing to manhood with brothers of his own or 
foster brothers sworn to eternal devotion and loyalty? 
He remembered the happiness of his life with the 
forest creatures—and yet the beauty of that too was 
gone now that he could not recall the language of the 
animals and their manner of living. A curtain seemed 
to shut him off from those early days. Sometimes he 
could almost hear the voice of the hind that mothered 
him, but always it escaped him. Once he tried calling 
and whistling the signals of birds and beasts, but his 
voice was like the faint indistinct echo of the real call¬ 
ings, related and yet subtly different from the true 


176 


SIEGFRIED 


thing. The thought of a baby raised in his early youth 
by the creatures of the wood began to seem like a story 
told of someone else. 

At last Siegfried grew to fear his solitude. He 
seemed fated to walk alone. There was not even Mimir 
left. If he returned to the court of Hjalprek they 
might not greet him as kindly as before. Now that 
he was a tried hero and an invulnerable foe, men might 
stand in awe of him. They would think that a warrior 
—so ruthless—so strong—had no need of little com¬ 
panionships. 

Filled with these thoughts of bitterness, Siegfried 
rode over the heaths and the moors. 


At the top of rocky Hindfell blossomed a garden 
closed to the world by its hedge of fire. In the garden 
exotic flowers grew that had no place on mountain- 
tops. Tall and lissome trees made borders beside stately 
walks. A small lake glowed like a round perfect 
sapphire and rocks veined with gold were reflected in 
its clear depths. The fiery hedge burned noiselessly. 
The pointed flames were a blood red color instead of 
the bright orange of the sun. No smoke curled from 
the burning wall and the dry pungent smell of a fire 
was missing. Instead a rich perfume filled the air that 
seemed born of the flowers and captured by the flames. 
In the center of the garden there stood a beautiful 
castle with a high look-out tower. Sheltered by the 
castle walls was a strip of moss—green as an emerald 


BRYNHILD 


177 


and soft and yielding to lie upon. There slept the most 
beautiful and wildest of the Valkyries—Brynhild the 
exultant. So great was the love of the Valkyries for 
this loveliest of them all, that they never left her unat¬ 
tended. Watchful and grieving there were always two 
with her—one at her side and the other in the watch- 
tower over her head. Silently they crept away from 
Valhalla without Odin’s knowledge—there came rid¬ 
ing Skuld and Skogul, Gunn and Hild, Gondul, Gier- 
skogul, Skeggjold, Thrud, Hlokk—and all the others 
in their turn. They wore their stern helmets and coats- 
of-mail. There were times when they came stamping 
into the garden from the storm-clouds upon their wild 
horses. The shaking of the beasts’ manes was like the 
rush of the wind and the froth from their bitted mouths 
was the dew that dropped to the valleys beneath. Hail 
fell from their nostrils into the woods. There were 
times when the helmeted girls came straight from the 
field of battle which they called Valol—straight from 
carrying the slain ones who were called Val, and the 
brynjas of the Valkyrie were bloody from the wounds 
of the chosen ones that Odin had summoned to the hall 
of the slain. When they came riding up the slopes of 
Hindfell or down from the clouds that swirled above 
the mountain-top, they shouted their cry—hoping its 
familiar intonations would awaken the sleeping 
Brynhild: 

“Hojotoh 0! Hojotoh 0! 

Heiaha! Heiaha! 

Hojotoho! Ha!” 


i 7 8 


SIEGFRIED 


But days passed and Brynhild still slept and the 
Valkyries came riding less hopefully. When they were 
in the garden they felt sadness creep over them and 
they questioned their own helplessness wistfully. 

This day Hrist and Mist were in the garden. They 
lay on the moss beside their sleeping sister. Their long 
dark hair spread out like dark ferns on the emerald 
ground. They talked of the fate of Brynhild. 

“Mist—tell me the story again.” 

“She is very beautiful,” Mist said dreamily. “She is 
the only one of us whose hair is copper-tinged and her 
eyes are slate grey like the sea on a melancholy day.” 

“And was she very clever?” asked Hrist. 

“We used to listen to her far into the night. She 
recited all kinds of runes to us and she knew the names 
of every warrior in the north. We often were a little 
jealous of her, for Odin often consulted her wishes as 
well as his own in his choice of slain heroes.” 

“Then why did Odin punish her?” Hrist whispered. 

“Two kings were fighting. One was Helm Gunnar, 
an old man of the north and the greatest of warriors. 
Odin had promised the victory to him. His foe was 
Agnar. Brynhild admired Agnar’s youth and his verve 
and wished to see him in greater battles. So she dis¬ 
obeyed the great Odin’s wish and smote down Helm 
Gunnar instead of the young warrior.” 

“Was Odin filled with wrath?” Hrist’s eyes were 
wide with awe. 

“Yes. It is the only time that the war father ever 
voiced his anger to the Valkyries. We all fled when 


BRYNHILD 


179 


we saw him riding toward us in a black storm-cloud— 
all except Brynhild. She stood and faced him. I shall 
never forget looking back just as the black cloud 
came rushing toward her in the furious onslaught of 
Odin’s attack. Brynhild lifted her sword and stood 
her ground. But it wasn’t any use. She was beaten to 
the ground like thin saplings in the first wind-storms 
of autumn.” 

“But Mist—why didn’t you all help her?” Hrist 
said. 

“Ah, my dear, we had not the courage of a Brynhild. 
Odin grieved when he spoke the punishment, for Bryn¬ 
hild was his favorite. He gave her a sleep-thorn and 
said that she could never ride with the Valkyries again. 
She is doomed to marry a mortal. It is the most humil¬ 
iating fate a Valkyrie can have. But Odin took pity 
on Brynhild and surrounded her with a hedge of fire. 
Whoever wakes her with a kiss will be a hero—for to 
reach her he will have ridden long roads to Hindfell 
and have endured the scourge of the leaping flames.” 

“Why do we watch over her?” Hrist asked. 

“We watch for the hero, little sister. Should some 
ugly giant break into the garden by evil chance, he 
must be slain before he touches our Brynhild. That is 
why one of us stands in the watch-tower. But should 
the man who comes riding this way be worthy of her 
beauty, we must mount our steeds and hurry away. 
Now it is time for you to climb to the tower again. 
Search the plains and the far-off slopes of the hills. 
Watch carefully the long roads. If anyone comes this 


i8o 


SIEGFRIED 


way call me and together we will tell if he is brave 
enough to enter the garden.” 

Hrist rose and entered the hut. In a moment she 
was seen in the tower, a slender figure with her long 
black hair blown by the wind in joyous abandon. 
Below her Mist brooded over the story she had just 
told. She thought of the brave defiance of Brynhild 
and her single victory against Odin. Now she would 
never again have a victory. Marriage to a mortal— 
Mist shivered. And yet—should that mortal have no 
fear; dare fire; dare loneliness; dare the unknown— 
perhaps Brynhild’s fate was nobler than they knew. 

Days passed. Another dawn and Hrist and Mist 
would ride away, releasing their guard to others of the 
Valkyries. 

“I had so longed to have the hero come while we 
were here,” Hrist pouted. 

“But think,” said Mist slowly, “how much happier 
she may be asleep than awakened to the strange life 
that awaits her.” 

Hrist nodded her agreement, but as she climbed to 
the tower for the last time her cheeks were feverish 
with anxious desire and the light of an eager wish was 
in her eyes. 

When Hrist first saw the spot of light in the distance, 
she thought that it was the sun’s gleams reflected 
against a rock veined with precious metal. The flood 
of light gradually assumed a shape—Hrist saw that a 
man on a horse was galloping steadily toward Hindfell. 
Before she called Mist, the youngest of the Valkyries 


BRYNHILD 


181 


covered her eyes with her slender hands and thought 
with all her heart of the things she would ask of a 
hero. He must be tall and handsome in a strong and 
glorious way. He must be true. Worthy of any fray, 
meeting all circumstances easily and surely, smiling at 
danger and unafraid of death. Hrist lifted her head 
to look again at the figure approaching Hindfell, and 
then she called softly to Mist who lay on the emerald 
moss beneath. 

“Mist—come quickly—at once—he comes, the hero 
comes. It could be no other than the one destined to 
awaken her. Bright gold is his hair and he sits his 
horse erectly and at ease. The sight of the flaming 
hedge has not even made him slow his pace.” 

Mist hurried to the look-out tower. She put her slim 
hand, sailor-fashion, over her arched brows. And she 
saw him whom Hrist had called the hero riding the 
long road that led to Brynhild’s closed garden. There 
was something in his bearing that struck immediate 
comfort to her spirit. This man was worthy of Brynhild 
—if any man on earth could be said to be deserving. 
Mist turned with nervous impatience. She seized 
Hrist by the hand and rushed her down to the garden 
below. They looked for the last time upon the body 
of the loveliest of the Valkyries, encased in metal, 
hidden from their eyes. 

“We must ride away at once. This is a sacred mo¬ 
ment for these two. We have no part in it,” cried Mist. 

The steeds of the two Valkyries leaped heavenward, 
shielded from sight by a white cloud above the garden. 


SIEGFRIED 


And at the foot of Hindfell, Siegfried paused a mo¬ 
ment upon Greyfell, at the sound of a curious rushing 
above his head that had no part in the quiet of the 
summer day. 

A A A A 

High on the crest of the hill, Siegfried could see the 
hedge of fire. It burned with a steady intensity. There 
was little chance to leap the flames. Above the fire, 
loomed a shield-hung castle with a banner floating 
from the topmost tower. Without pausing to think 
of the ride through the fire, Siegfried drew the girth 
tighter and lifted his reins. Urging Greyfell on, he 
cried: “Ride the flame wall through, my beauty—on 
—on—it is a worthy death should we scorch in the 
fire and a worthy adventure awaits us on the other side 
should we live.” Greyfell lifted his head—reared for 
a moment and plunged. It might have been that far- 
off day when the horse had proved himself by breasting 
the swirling eddies that the other horses had shied 
away from. No other horse in the north would have 
braved a sheet of flame. Siegfried heard a strange roar¬ 
ing as if the wind were upon them. A heat that was 
like pain licked him from head to foot. Head high 
and sword aloft, he rode to safety. 

The wonder of finding himself in a cool little garden 
kept Siegfried from exploring at once. He dismounted 
from Greyfell and led him to the clear lake sparkling 
like a sapphire in the hollow of rocks. They drank the 
cold water. 


BRYNHILD 


183 

Siegfried looked first at the wall of the castle. The 
blazoned shields hid the sturdy logs of the hall. The 
swirling banner seemed to welcome him. He started 
for the great iron doorway. But something stopped 
him. Against his will, he found himself pacing the 
formal walks of the garden. And so it was he came 
to the strip of moss—as startling a green as the most 
precious emerald—and with the softness of some silken 
material. Lying there asleep and all armed, lay the 
figure of a warrior. Encased in a gleaming coat-of- 
mail and wearing a helmet that guarded the face as 
well as the head, the features of the sleeping warrior 
were hidden from Siegfried. He decided that this 
was some boy who had ridden to save Brynhild and 
perhaps been so hurt by the flaming hedge he could 
not find the strength to enter the castle and complete 
his errand. Siegfried bent down and lifted the helmet 
from the warrior’s head. He started back trembling. 
This was not a boy, then—nor a man at all, but a 
woman with a head so lovely it made him close his 
eyes in bewilderment. Her skin was the white of 
certain velvety flowers he had found in the deep woods. 
Against this creaminess, her lips were a dark red. They 
curved down—like the drooping of a feather-line, lend¬ 
ing an air of sadness to the face. The other extraord¬ 
inary feature was the flaming hair that lifted the face 
from gentleness to a wild radiancy. Siegfried noticed 
that even in sleep the eyes were beautiful with long 
dark lashes and brows that curved with the same 
delicacy of the lips—sorrowful little half-moons. 


184 


SIEGFRIED 


Siegfried started from his reverie. He saw that the 
steel byrny that she wore fit her so tightly it might 
have been a part of her. He took his sword and with 
the gentlest of hands, rent the metal from the collar 
downward and the blade parted the armor as if it 
were severing cloth. Swiftly Siegfried swept back the 
folds of steel and saw that a woman in a robe of sea- 
green lay before him. 

“Awake—it is Siegfried! ” he cried impatiently. 

She stirred so slightly he could not be sure that it 
was not the wind ruffling the pale green veils that 
covered her. He knelt down and looked into her face 
eagerly. He longed to see her eyes—to hear her speak. 
An emotion more stirring than anything he had ever 
felt shook him. He watched her, fascinated—the 
arched brows seemed to beckon him. At last he saw 
the sad curve of her lips. He was filled with a pro¬ 
found pity—why was she sad? What hurt could come 
to one so beautiful. His eyes were blinded with swift 
tears as his lips hunted hers. He looked into her wide 
gray eyes and started back frightened at what he had 
done. She was awake. What would she say to him? 

“Who has won me back from sleep?” she asked in a 
low voice. 

He could not answer her. He could only stand— 
wondering that he had ever thought her face weak and 
girlish. Her grey eyes met his with a wise candor that 
made him feel little more than a boy. Her lips had 
lost their sad droop and smiled in a strong serene way. 
She lay very quietly looking up at him. 


BRYNHILD 


185 


“Who can you be to have rent my byrny apart and 
ridden a wall of flames?” 

“I am Siegfried,” he said humbly. 

She sat up and leaning her bright head on her hand, 
observed his shyness with a whimsical smile and mock¬ 
ery in her eyes. 

“Not Siegfried, the last of the mighty Volsungs? 
My child—you have not the air of a king’s son but 
the bearing of a boy who has never been out of the 
forest.” 

Siegfried flushed hotly—but he thought he saw the 
mischief in her eyes and he answered calmly enough. 

“Well—that is right—I have never been out of the 
forest.” 

Brynhild bit her lip with her white teeth and looked 
perplexed. She had expected to goad this youngster 
into a fiery temper and then vanquish him in a polite 
duel so that he would have no doubt of her prowess 
at war. 

“Your golden haulberk is very beautiful,” she said 
with idle scorn, “but you wear no other jewels, why 
is that?” 

Siegfried’s eyes glowed dangerously and then his 
mouth curved as mischievously as her own. He turned 
and lifted the sapphire caskets from Greyfell’s back. 

“I have saved them all for you,” he said. 

Then Brynhild laughed merrily and stood up beside 
him. He saw that she was of amazing height—nearly 
as tall as himself. Her figure was gracefully molded 
so that she seemed as slender as a young tree. She put 


i86 


SIEGFRIED 


her strong white hands on his shoulders and looked 
long into his eyes. 

“You will come with me into the castle,” she said 
quietly. “There will be many things to tell each other. 
I will teach you and you will comfort my loneliness 
and grief, as I bear the punishment Odin the Warfather 
has bestowed upon me.” 

“Do not grieve—I will take you away—to beautiful 
places, to the courts of kings where you will be wor¬ 
shipped as you deserve,” cried Siegfried impetuously. 

She shook her head sadly. “Nay—you do not 
understand. I must always be lonely now, for there is 
only one thing I want in the world and that denied 
me I will take no other.” 

“What thing is that?” cried Siegfried. 

“Something of no importance, my friend—I should 
not have spoken of it,” she smiled tenderly. 

“But what thing—name it and I shall see that it is 
yours,” he said. 

“No—it is something that even that very brutal and 
handsome sword of yours cannot attain,” she said, 
mocking him. 

“But I have always found I could get what I sought,” 
Siegfried boasted. 

“This thing you cannot get. I long to return to 
Valhalla. I long to ride my beautiful horse from 
heaven to battlefield and from battlefield heavenward 
again. I ache for that moment of glory when a hero 
dies in my arms and cries to be taken to the hall of the 
slain. I want to feel again the triumph of carrying 


BRYNHILD 187 

him, bleeding and wounded, from the clamor of the 
battlefield to the peace of the sky.” 

Siegfried’s eyes lost their youthful conceit. The joy 
died from his face. He looked at Brynhild and saw 
her in a new light. He shivered at her power. She 
was a woman—gentle and beautiful—and yet withal 
she was a warrior—! 

“Come with me and do not look so gloomy,” she 
laughed at his serious face. “You did not think that I 
would let you fight my battles for me, did you?” 

He did not know how to answer her so he followed 
her slowly into the shining castle. 

As they entered the iron portal, she said: “Welcome, 
my friend. We will teach one another every lore of the 
mighty that we know. May the gods give us a brief hap¬ 
piness to linger beyond the sorrows that lie before us.” 


Qkapter 
w 



BRYNHILD AND 
SIEGFRIED 


EAUTIFUL days followed. 
Brynhild was a constant mystery to the young Sieg¬ 
fried. Sometimes she seemed as old as life itself, with 
her wise words and her moody countenance. But at 
other times she was younger than Siegfried had ever 
been with her delicious illusions of a carefree life. 
Great was her scorn for the plodding, serious-minded 
race of humans. Siegfried found himself carrying on 
royal arguments in defense of men and heroes—while 
always in his heart he knew that she was right: What 
the gods willed was ever so. Still—he insisted—she 
pictured men as blundering children. Surely that 
could not be! He strove to remember the gallant chiefs 
at the hall of Hjalprek. 

In the forenoons they walked in the garden. In the 
heat of the day they stayed in the cool castle where 
Brynhild brought Siegfried beakers of sparkling wine 
and delicious foods. She was embroidering a great 
dragon on an emblem for him. At night they sat be¬ 
side the roaring fires for the evenings were cool on the 
mountain-top. And they talked—or were happily 
silent, remembering the things that had been said. 
Neither had any desire for other amusement or 
companionship. 


188 



She stirred so slightly he could not be sure it was not the 
wind ruffling the pale green veils that covered her 





















































































































































































































BRYNHILD AND SIEGFRIED 


189 


At first Siegfried longed to hear all there was to 
know of the Valkyries and of Valhalla. And Brynhild 
answered his questions glowingly. 

Siegfried: What is the hall like? Odin said that it 
was roofed with silver shields. But how many men 
are there and what do they do and how do they live? 
Is it a mortal or a charmed existence? 

Brynhild: Stop—your questions come as if you were 
a landsman buying an estate. I cannot speak of Val¬ 
halla as—made of wood—one hundred feet by fifty— 
seats a thousand and provides chess boards, wrestling, 
swimming, and all the idrottir sponsored by our really 
fine young men. 

Siegfried: There—you are teasing me! I have 
asked the question wrongly. Tell me in your own 
way—I will listen and not interrupt. 

Brynhild: You follow a sky-road to the hall—it is 
the night sky, dark as the stormiest sea—sometimes a 
crescent moon spears the night-waves like a silver fish 
—sometimes the stars are seen like flecks of phosphorus 
in a churning swell. I have ridden the sky-road when 
there is no light at all and I might have been carrying 
my tired burden to a grave in the dark underground 
instead of to the glory of Valhalla. 

Siegfried: Is it a long journey? 

Brynhild: As long as the thoughts that you have as 
you ride toward the sacred gate. There is an old lattice 
door and few have learned how it is closed on the 
latch. I think that there must be five hundred and 
forty more doors to enter the hall. You have asked 


i go 


SIEGFRIED 


me how many live there—eight hundred Chosen pass 
through each door. 

Siegfried: I have heard of a wolf that fights with 
those who enter. 

Brynhild: The wolf hangs over the western door 
and an eagle hovers near. There is no fighting in Val¬ 
halla—except in mens minds. If they desire to relive 
the battles they have fought they look into the glittering 
eyes of the wolf and they hear the clamor of war again. 

Siegfried: The weapons of men are taken with 
them. 

Brynhild: Aye—as you have heard, the roof of the 
hall is a solid sheet of silver, shield upon shield. It is 
raftered with shafts and the benches are strewn with 
byrnies. 

Siegfried: Do men live the same lives as they did 
on earth? 

Brynhild: Much the same—every day old Sooty- 
face, the jolly cook, stands over Sooty-flame with a boar 
called Sooty-black. This is the best fare in the world. 
Few have heard of it but it is the chosen warrior’s food. 
And Hrist and Mist—the two youngest and prettiest of 
the Valkyries carry horns of sparkling wines and the 
stoutest of ales. Each day we search the world for 
battles and when someone finds one, we are all 
summoned and go riding off on Glad One, Goldy, 
Gleamer, Race-giant, Silvery-lock, Sinewy, Shiner, 
Pale-hoof, Gold-lock, Lightfoot and the beautiful 
Gold-coat. 

Siegfried: When you were not on earth you stayed 


BRYNHILD AND SIEGFRIED 


191 


in the hall then—watching for wars and feasting with 
men? 

Brynhild: Your voice is bitter. Perhaps you do not 
think that it was maidenly conduct? Come—my 
foolish boy, do not judge things you know nothing of. 
Confess that seeing me sew this silly talisman for you 
gives you no pleasure—and certainly gives none to me. 
We lived as you lived when you were a little boy— 
carefree, abandoned lives. In front of the gates of Val¬ 
halla is a wood called Glistener. The leaves in the 
wood are all red-gold. It is filled with delightful sur¬ 
prises. We played in the wood like happy children. 
From it we could see the earth—the moonless fells, the 
stark heaths and the little villages that storms could 
wipe off the earth and floods could cover. From the 
glistening wood, the world seemed very unimportant. 
Looking down upon it we were filled with a sense of 
vast superiority. 

Siegfried: You really wish that you were there still, 
don’t you? 

Brynhild: “Ah, what jealousy—for my poor dream 
that I can never have. 

Siegfried (petulantly): But why do you want it 
then? 

Brynhild: Are you so wise then that you can order 
the desires of your heart? 

Siegfried: I have everything that I want. 

Brynhild: A dangerous remark—my friend—it 
challenges the gods. 

Siegfried: I am not afraid of anything. 


192 


SIEGFRIED 


There were days when Siegfried learned from Bryn- 
hild as he had learned in the old days from Mimir. She 
taught him with a gay air of amusement and things 
that she said she spoke as if they had no consequence 
and Siegfried absorbed them easily. She told him 
runes of war and he cut them on his own sword Gram. 
She taught him sea-runes that smacked of salt spray 
and rudder-blades, of shaven oars and sea-hills, and 
the marvel and the peril of riding a swimming horse. 
Mischievously she lectured him with ale-runes—telling 
him to take his mead wisely and well. And of thought- 
runes, she spoke, saying that the fairest-souled and 
wisest of men held their thoughts higher than any 
other thing. 

The day came when Siegfried cried boyishly: “There 
can be no wiser woman than you in the whole wide 
world. You have told me the homely things as well as 
the high things, to be good to friend and kin, never to 
swear a wrongsome oath, to be reverent to the sick- 
dead, the sea-dead, and sword-dead, and deal heedfully 
with their corpses. You have told me the mystic things 
and the godly things. Surely—again I say—there is 
no one wiser who lives. I swear that I want you for 
my own. Your words lie in my heart as none others 
have before them. Let me listen to you always as 1 
have listened these days we have spent together.” 

Brynhild looked troubled. She said softly: “Come 
with me, Siegfried, to the castle hall.” 

He rose eagerly to follow her. At the doorway she 
stopped and said in a subdued voice: “Whatever I 


BRYNHILD AND SIEGFRIED 193 

may say to you, remember that could I have all men’s 
sons to choose from, my choice would be you.” 

Siegfried entered the hall, a figure radiant with 
strength and joy. He walked like a king, his red-gold 
curls falling in long locks and his keen eyes staring 
straight before him. Brynhild led him to a great 
carved throne in a private bower that he had never 
seen before. 

“This seat is for few,” she said quietly. 

He saw that the room was very beautiful, the best 
and fairest of hangings were there and the floor was 
covered with silver cloth. The throne seemed curiously 
rugged beside it and yet there could be little doubt that 
it was meant for one of power. 

“Yet you have granted it to me,” he said. 

“For a brief moment,” she smiled. “To taste power 
is sweet.” 

“Come—you must always tease,” he said wearily. 
“This moment is too serious for that. I tell you again 
that you are the fairest and the wisest ever born. I 
give you all of myself—my faith as well as my life.” 

“It is wiser not to cast faith into a woman’s power, 
for ever shall she break what she has promised,” Bryn¬ 
hild said. 

“You could not break your word—any more than a 
warrior could forget his oath,” Siegfried said. 

“That is why I will not give it,” she answered sadly. 

Siegfried stood up and came to her. He had lost 
all semblance to a king. His eyes were as bewildered 
as a young boy’s. 


T 94 


SIEGFRIED 


“What can you mean? The best of days would dawn 
if we gave ourselves into one another’s keeping.” 

“It is not fated that we should abide together,” Bryn- 
hild said gravely. “I am a shield-may and wear a helm 
on my head even as the kings of war do. The most 
terrible battle is not loathesome to me. I can never 
look upon the world of men seriously. Some perverse 
mischief fills my heart and you would find that your 
wife pummeled your friends and hung your chieftains 
by their belts like shields on the pegs of your walls. 
Scorn and great laughter would echo in your court. 
Even should you overlook all this and take me as I 
am—a tempestuous lady of the shield—our troth 
would be broken. That I cannot bear.” 

“How can you say such things. My word is as good 
as your word and that word I trust above all others.” 

“The matter is out of our hands,” Brynhild said 
simply. “I have listened to the gods speak. I shall 
gaze on the hosts of the war-kings and you shall wed 
a certain Gudrun, the daughter of Giuki.” 

“What king’s daughter lives to beguile me?” cried 
Siegfried passionately. “Neither am I double-hearted. 
I swear by the gods that it is you I desire and no other.” 

Brynhild looked at him with eyes that were old and 
wise. It was impossible to shake the faith of his youth 
and the sureness of his power. 

“We will swear a troth,” she said at last. “But it 
must be tested. There are tasks you have set for your¬ 
self. One is the avenging of the line of the Volsungs. 
I will leave Hindfell and go to Hlymdale where lives 


BRYNHILD AND SIEGFRIED 


*95 


my foster-father. Seek me there in a year’s time if 
you still desire me.” 

Siegfried put the ring of Andvari on her hand. He 
was filled with happiness and yet the recent sadness 
of her words lingered. He shivered as he said: “What 
fruitfulness would life offer if we were not together? 
I will go my way and perform the deeds of my oath 
of honor, but the pain of leaving you is harder to bear 
than the stroke of a sharp sword.” 

At dawn of the next day, Siegfried rode away. His 
shield was many-folded and blazing with red gold. 
The image of a dragon loomed upon his talisman—a 
golden dragon lying in a sea of red. The golden byrny 
gleamed and the sword Gram had never seemed as 
noble. It had grown wiser too in the presence of Bryn- 
hild. New runes were carved on its sides and the head 
of a dragon was fashioned on its hilt. The image of 
Fafnir was to go forth with Siegfried that men might 
know the hero as champion of the worm, that all 
tongues of the north would tell of Horned Siegfried 
in words of glory and wonder. 

Brynhild watched him go. She stood in the garden, 
a tall fair figure wearing the sea-green robe that she 
had worn in her long sleep. She was merry to the 
last and she did not speak again of the doubt in her 
heart of the days that were to come nor of her knowl¬ 
edge of what the Norns decreed. 

“Do not forget, my young hero, that there is a cer¬ 
tain leaf-spot on your shoulder that is vulnerable,” she 
teased. 


196 


SIEGFRIED 


“As if a man’s sword could ever near my shoulder 
when Gram is in the way,” scoffed Siegfried proudly. 

“Be good to the fair Hjordis—she has had little of 
her son,” Brynhild’s eyes were soft with understanding. 

“She will be glad to have me avenge my father’s 
death,” said Siegfried. 

“Probably not as glad as if you stayed with her at 
the court,” Brynhild smiled. 

“But I must be off—as soon as Hjalprek gives me 
an army—the year is short until I return to you. There 
is much to be done.” 

“Yes,” said Brynhild, “a short year for you—a long 
year for me.” 

“But there is a great deal for you to do too,” said 
Siegfried hurriedly. 

“Of course,” but Brynhild smiled sadly. What 
would there be to do? Pace the peaceful grounds of 
Hlymdale, longing for two things—to ride with the 
Valkyries and to have Siegfried back again. 

And then he was tender for a moment. A strange 
fear shook him. What if she were right? What if 
he were to break his troth? It could not be, but the 
thought of it sent cold pain through his heart. He 
leaped from Greyfell and came near her once again. 
Their hands met in a fierce grasp. For a moment 
it seemed as if Brynhild, the Valkyrie, was as weak as 
any woman—she clung to him as a shipwrecked man 
clings to the spar of wood that means safety. Her feel¬ 
ing seemed to rush from her body into his and they 
stood—frightened and loath to leave one another. And 


BRYNHILD AND SIEGFRIED 


197 


then Brynhild proved herself once more a warrior-may. 
Courage came back slowly. Her mouth and eyes lost 
their look of tragedy. She stood serene and proud and 
said farewell to Siegfried. 

After that it was easy for him, and he never knew 
that he had lived his moment of greatest weakness. He 
did not realize that he had been brave only as long as 
she had been brave. In the moment of her weakening 
he had not comforted her, but had clung to her— 
afraid. He had not taken her away with him at once— 
triumphantly overruling her will. With the return of 
her courage, came his, and he rode away feeling brave 
and strong and ready to conquer the world. It was 
so because she wished it. 


Chapter 

3V 



THE DREAM OF 
GUDRUN 


HILE Siegfried rode to the 
court of Hjalprek, Brynhild went to Hlymdale—and 
far away to the southward in a realm on the Rhine, 
others who were destined to mark the life of Siegfried 
made ready for a journey too. 

This was at the court of King Giuki. The journey 
concerned a dream of his daughter Gudrun. It was 
this same Gudrun that Brynhild prophesied would be 
the wife of Siegfried. 

Gudrun was a slim maiden with the figure of a child 
and a lithe, slender body. Her hair was short and 
fitted her head like a golden cap. Her eyes were 
large and frightened and she resembled nothing so 
much as a nervous, sensitive fawn. She had three 
brothers and they loved her more than anything on 
earth. There was Gunther who was noble and fine, 
and Guttorm, a little stupid and slow-witted, and 
Hagen who was moody and supposed to be very clever. 
Each brother loved her in his own way. Gunther was 
inclined to lecture her and tell her that she was a child 
no longer. It was time that she grew up to woman¬ 
hood and to suffering. Words like this made Gudrun 
tremble and fear life and wish that she need never 
grow up at all. Guttorm gave her presents—dogs 


198 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


199 


with soft, pleading eyes not unlike her own, and he 
played games with her and did what she told him 
no matter how foolish her request. Gudrun, per¬ 
haps, took advantage of him. She ordered him im¬ 
possible tasks, but she always kissed him lovingly 
when he obeyed and considered she had paid him for 
his trouble. 

Hagen she adored. She never asked him anything. 
She spent her time shadowing his footsteps until he 
ordered her off like a common thrall instead of his 
little princess sister. She begged him to tell her strange 
stories and sometimes he did. When she came from 
hearing them her small white face was very sad and 
her great eyes looked as if she had seen some dreadful 
thing. And yet Hagen loved her with all his stern 
harshness. There was the day when stupid Guttorm 
teased her too long and she wept. Hagen might have 
killed his brother if Gudrun had not torn them apart. 
Gudrun shivered when she remembered things like 
this about Hagen, but in her heart she adored him all 
the more for them. 

The mother of these four interesting children was a 
fierce-hearted woman. From her Hagen received his 
black moods. Perhaps it was because of her that 
Gudrun’s eyes always wore a look of fright. Gudrun 
had never had a thought that her mother did not know. 
And so it was that when she dreamed a strange dream 
one night, she rushed at dawn to Grimhild’s room. 
Grimhild was called the Wise-wife and the reading of 
dreams was an easy thing for her to do. 


200 


SIEGFRIED 


“Mother—a strange dream came to me and I cannot 
forget it,” Gudrun looked very young in her long white 
sleeping robe. Her smooth golden hair curved to 
meet the shape of her face. In the pale light of morn¬ 
ing, her eyes were darker and more beautiful in their 
look of fright than ever before. 

Grimhild the Wise-wife was a little bored with 
Gudrun. Her love was for her sons. So she spoke 
sleepily to her daughter. 

“Tell me your dream and do not take it so seriously. 
Dreams often forecast naught but the weather.” 

Gudrun cupped her serious young face in her trem¬ 
bling hands, “No—no, mother, no weather is this. I 
dreamed that I had a hawk on my wrist, feathered 
with plumage of gold.” 

Grimhild made the obvious answer to quiet her: 
“Many have heard of your beauty and the fame of your 
family’s wisdom. Some king’s son is destined for 
you.” 

“But I dreamed that naught was so dear to me as 
this hawk. All my wealth I would cast aside rather 
than him—even my brothers I would forget.” 

“That is easy, my dear. The man you shall have will 
be of the godliest and you will love him well.” 

“But I am afraid to love as much as that,” Gudrun 
cried, “I do not want to love anyone more than Hagen, 
my brother.” 

“Be still,” said Grimhild harshly. “You speak as a 
foolish child.” For the Wise-wife loved Hagen more 
than any of the rest of her children. She was jealous 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


201 


of Gudrun’s love for this mysterious and gloomy 
brother. 

“But mother—it grieves me that I do not know who 
this man is, and whether your telling of my dream is a 
true telling.” 

Grimhild sent her away impatiently. 

But the next night Gudrun dreamed again and this 
time she would not tell her mother the dream. Her 
distress and her fright were so great that she went 
around half-ill, very pale and looking so fragile that 
her brothers were afraid. 

“What is it you wish, my little Gudrun?” the king 
asked her. 

“Father, I have dreamed strange dreams and I long 
to hear the wise words of the Valkyrie maiden, Bryn- 
hild, who is said to be able to read the most subtle 
things. A wandering minstrel came to the court yes¬ 
terday with news of her awakening from the sleep of 
punishment. He said that she had gone to Hlymdale 
to the home of her foster-father.” 

“But, child, Brynhild is a long way from here—a 
sea-journey and a land-journey that will take you many 
weary days.” 

“Dear father, I cannot be happy until I see her.” 
And Gudrun was so convincing in her appeal that 
Giuki ordered a train of damsels and a company of 
warriors to prepare a ship at once for the journey. 
Grimhild sat back in scornful amusement. But after 
all, this fantasy took Gudrun’s mind away from Hagen, 
and the old woman was satisfied. 


202 


SIEGFRIED 


So Gudrun arrayed herself in a golden robe and a 
short cloak of gold, and little golden sandals with open 
fretwork were on her feet. Her train of maidens wore 
garments brightly colored so that they surrounded 
Gudrun like gay gems. None of them wore a golden 
cloak—that was for the little princess. They drove in 
golden wagons through the garden of enchanted roses 
that surrounded the castle to the river where a ship 
awaited them. On the deck were piled cushions like 
bright flowers. Here Gudrun lay with her sleek 
golden head uncovered in the soft air. She was sur¬ 
rounded by her maidens-in-waiting, and they talked 
of fanciful things and giggled a great deal behind their 
little hands, as is the way of young girls gossiping 
together. 

“Did you see Hagen try to come with us, but the 
the queen wouldn’t hear of it?” whispered one maiden. 

“I thought Gudrun would be too frightened to leave 
at the last,” said another softly. 

The sailors were skilled and the boat was worthy. 
In a few days they were well up the Rhine and finally 
they came to the stretch of sea that must be crossed 
before they reached Brynhild. It was stormy and 
rough and little Gudrun hid her head in the arms of 
her maidens and wept. Why had she come so far 
from home? And what would Brynhild know of a 
dream of days before? 

Hlymdale was on the sea and almost as soon as the 
sailors sighted the high towers, the ship was also seen 
by those who watched from the walls of the castle. 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


203 


There was great excitement until Brynhild said: 
“That shall be Gudrun, Guiki’s daughter. I dreamed 
of her coming last night. Let us go to meet her. No 
fairer woman may ever come to our house, nor to 
any other house.” 

So those at Hlymdale went down to the sea for the 
coming of Gudrun, and in the great hall the henchmen 
and the cupbearers made ready for a feast of such 
luxury and color it looked like a painted banquet. 
Silver cloths were spread and the floor was carpeted 
with scarlet for the little golden feet of Gudrun to 
walk upon. 

On the beach Brynhild stood apart from the throng. 
A smile played about her lips. There was an expres¬ 
sion of resignation in her eyes. In her heart she was 
saying: “So it was as I thought it would be, and Sieg¬ 
fried is not mine—nor ever shall be mine.” But she 
did not grieve for her heart was proud and she knew 
that no happiness lay in the world for her. The boat 
came skimming over the waves toward her and her 
keen eyes went straightway to a small shining head and 
a vivid flower-like face. For a moment Brynhild did 
the womanly thing. She compared that lithe, small 
body to her own glorious height—she felt the wind 
caressing her long heavy hair and wondered what it 
would be like to have short wildly blowing locks. If 
there was jealousy in her mind she laughed it away 
and when Gudrun was carried down from the boat to 
the beach she found a gracious woman waiting to wel¬ 
come her. 


204 


SIEGFRIED 


“It is good to see you here on these far shores from 
your home,” Brynhild said. 

But Gudrun was silent and shy. Her eyes sought 
Brynhild’s appealingly. She did not answer the wel¬ 
come that those of the north gave her. 

Brynhild whispered to her so that none could hear: 
“Child—do not be abashed, in doing so you will end 
the mirth and good-will of these people who have 
prepared a feast for you.” 

“But I have come to see you alone on a matter 
of the greatest importance to me,” cried Gudrun 
impetuously. 

“Prithee, do not disappoint these people,” Brynhild 
said, “later we will go to a lonely bower and you shall 
tell me the things that lie nearest to your heart. But 
now, let the meeting of queen-folk be a glorious thing. 
Come with me to the high hall where a golden seat 
awaits you. There let us talk together for the enter¬ 
tainment of our listeners. We will gossip of mighty 
kings and their great deeds; you will tell of your fine 
brothers and I will tell of the gods. Good talk it shall 
be and your maidens-in-waiting will take back to the 
court of Giuki tales of your charm and how those of 
the northlands found you enchanting.” 

“Good talk,” Gudrun agreed, blushing shyly, “let 
us do even so—though you must lead the conversation 
where you wish it to go. I am not a clever maid. I 
can but answer what you ask.” 

Brynhild laughed and put her hand on the white 
shoulder of Gudrun. “You are a modest child—too 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


205 


modest I fear. You should be vain,—knowing what 
victories lie before you.” 

“What do you mean?” Gudrun said in bewilder¬ 
ment. 

“Nothing—I was only pretending that I could 
prophesy,” Brynhild smiled. 

“You are a very curious woman,” Gudrun sighed, 
“much too clever for me.” 

Then they went to the hall and sat together on the 
dais covered with scarlet cloth. Maidens bore them 
wine and there were many listeners as these two noble 
women, so different from each other, matched their 
tales of great men. 

“There were the sons of Haki and Hagbard,” said 
Brynhild, “they brought to pass many a deed of fame 
in their warfare.” 

Gudrun pursed her lips and nodded her head 
thoughtfully, “Great men certainly, and of far-reaching 
fame. Yet Sigar took their one sister and burned the 
other. He razed their hall to the ground and I have 
heard my brothers tell that they are slow to revenge 
this wicked deed. Why did you not name my brothers 
who are held to be the first men of this time?” said 
Gudrun proudly. 

“They are men of good hope surely,” Brynhild 
agreed, “But they have scarcely proven themselves 
worthy yet of such a name as first men of their time. 
Gunther will always be noble and kind but he lacks a 
certain ruthless power that is needed to make a hero. 
Hagen has that ruthless power—but has he the last 


20 6 


SIEGFRIED 


essence of nobility and fineness that never can do a 
wrong? I wonder,” Brynhild mused. 

“And darling stupid Guttorm is like his stupid 
sister,” Gudrun sighed, “he can never be clever enough 
to be a chieftain. You are right, Brynhild. But tell 
me, is there such a man as we both are thinking of in 
our hearts, alive today?” 

“Yes—one,” said Brynhild. 

Gudrun waited for her to tell who he was and where 
his dwelling might be, but it was a long time before 
Brynhild spoke. And when she told the story of this 
hero her eyes glowed with tenderness and her voice 
was rich and deep with emotion. 

“His name is Siegfried, the son of Siegmund, the 
king. A youngling he is still—in the full days of un¬ 
tried manhood—and yet he has accomplished deeds 
worthy of a man. He grew up in the forest, untrained 
and wild, and yet his speech is fair—so fair perhaps 
that when he speaks men wish that he would never 
be done and it seems that all that he has told is true. 
He has never known fear, and he is aided in his brave 
deeds by a beautiful sword that Odin gave to his line 
and by an invulnerable skin that he won by his own 
slaying of the dragon Fafnir.” 

“How ugly he must be—all scaled and horned,” 
said Gudrun, shivering. 

“Nay—his skin is the same as other men’s—soft and 
smooth but the color of bronze-gold and his hair is a 
red-gold of brilliant hue. His face is high-boned and 
his eyes are keen and not the eyes of a boy. He is 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


207 


magnificently tall so that his sword Gram which is 
seven spans long smites the ears of standing corn in 
the full grown fields.” 

“From love you have gained these tidings of him,” 
said Gudrun softly, “never have I heard it said that 
Brynhild spoke well of any man.” 

Brynhild turned away and her voice was strange as 
she answered: “Nay—all the northlands know of 
him by now. He has gone back to the great court of 
Hjalprek from the glittering heath where the dragon 
was slain. Sagas are being sung of him—and the 
poets sit at his feet drinking in his fair words and giving 
them back to him in song. He goes within the next 
moon to slay the sons of the Goths.” 

“Why does he love battles and bloodshed?” sighed 
the gentle Gudrun. 

Brynhild turned away and her voice was strange and 
warlike. The light in her eyes was unreal and Gudrun 
shrank back afraid. 

“He loves the clamor and the clash of swords— 
shields falling—spears clashing—shafts breaking. 
The sweetness of victory and the pain of death—the 
cries of the warriors and the trumpets’ blare. Banners 
unfurled—horses tramping—the scarlet of wounds— 
the whiteness of the slain.” 

“Then he fights for no honorable cause?” Gudrun 
cried. 

Brynhild sank back on the dais and closed her eyes 
with the tiredness of a warrior who had fought such a 
battle as that she had just described. She said wearily: 


208 


SIEGFRIED 


“Yes, he does, my child. I have described myself 
and not the warrior Siegfried. He cannot fight simply 
for the joy of fighting. That is a joy only felt by a 
Valkyrie. He goes to the Goths to revenge the death 
of his father, and of his noble grandfather who first 
made known the line of Volsung heroes.” 

For a while the two lovely women were silent and 
brooding. At last Gudrun said: 

“Do you know why I have come?” 

“Why have you come?” Brynhild answered. 

“To tell you dreams of mine which have brought 
me great grief and fright,” said Gudrun. She clasped 
her slim hands nervously over the strong hands of 
Brynhild, and her eyes begged for help and her cling¬ 
ing body was beseeching. 

“Come away with me where no one will disturb us,” 
Brynhild smiled reassuringly, “and you may tell me 
all that troubles you.” 

When they left the hall, voices that had been sub¬ 
dued broke into a loud buzzing. 

“Do they like each other?” wondered the maidens- 
in-waiting—“Does our lovely mistress impress the 
great Brynhild?” 

“Have you ever heard Brynhild speak so of any man 
as now she speaks of the Horned Siegfried?” said 
Heimer, foster-father of the famous Valkyrie. 

And those who had listened to the words of the 
proud Valkyrie shook their heads in wonder. 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


209 


In the tower-room Brynhild sat with the young 
Gudrun. The thin tall flames of the tapers burned, 
for evening was falling. It was a dim pleasant atmos¬ 
phere that invited confidences. Gudrun sat with feet 
crossed under her and her chin cupped in her hand. 
Brynhild stood at the window, looking out at the first 
pale stars that pierced the purple dusk. She longed 
to speak to Gudrun but she waited to hear her speak 
first, fearing otherwise she might frighten the young 
girl into a confused shyness again. At last Gudrun 
began—hesitantly—and then swiftly so that her words 
tumbled over each other and often came in the wrong 
order. 

“Brynhild—a dream—the strangest of dreams came 
to me. The second night I dreamed again and this 
second dream was even stranger than the first. I re¬ 
member them as clearly as if they actually happened. 
Sometimes I think that they must have happened,” 
Gudrun pushed her golden hair from her forehead 
with nervous hands. Her eyes were dark with 
anxiety. 

“Tell me your dream, little princess—and do not 
let matters as vague as this sadden you. Is it not enough 
that life is filled with actual things to command your 
worry?” 

“Yes—yes,” Gudrun cried, “but I cannot help it. I 
cannot stop thinking strange thoughts. Brynhild— 
promise me, no matter how it may hurt me, you will 
interpret my dream rightly.” 

“Yes, Gudrun, I will tell you the truth. It is easier 


210 


SIEGFRIED 


to face things when one expects their coming,” Bryn- 
hild answered. 

“This I dreamed,” said Gudrun, “that many of us 
went in a company from my father’s court to the forest. 
In the black woods we found a great hart—it far ex¬ 
celled all other deer that any of us had ever seen and 
the hair of him was golden. We all wanted to take 
him but I alone got him and I loved him more than 
any other thing. He seemed greater to me than my 
brothers—even Hagen who is—perhaps— the favorite 
of my brothers. And listen, Brynhild, someone shot 
and killed the hart—even at my very knees, so that 
I saw his gentle eyes as he died. I could scarcely bear 
the grief of it.” 

Brynhild turned again to the window. It was night 
outside now and the deep blackness shut out every 
vestige of the world. There were only the faint far- 
off echoes of laughter from the great hall. Brynhild 
swung around and faced Gudrun. Her face was as 
white as the child’s at her feet. Her voice bit like a 
cruel harsh thong, “Gudrun, I will read your dream 
and even as I say these things shall come to pass. Sieg¬ 
fried shall come to you—even that same Siegfried 
whom I have chosen for my well-beloved. Grimhild 
shall give him a powerful mead that is mingled with 
hurtful things and it will cast us all into mighty strife. 
Siegfried you shall have—but even as I have lost him— 
you shall quickly lose him also.” 

“Oh, what a sad dream it was—I knew it,” Gudrun 
hid her face in her hands. 


THE DREAM OF GUDRUN 


211 


“But think of the happiness when Siegfried rides to 
your door,” said Brynhild. 

“But I shall take him from you—and he will be 
taken in turn from me. How sad it makes me to 
know that life is like this,” sobbed Gudrun. 

“Perhaps the dream is wrongly read,” soothed Bryn¬ 
hild, “perhaps this fair Siegfried has captured my 
imagination so that I read him into all things. Forget 
the dream—forget my telling of it,” she begged. 

But Gudrun was not to be comforted. She sum¬ 
moned her maidens-in-waiting and sent word to the 
sailors that the ship must start on its return journey at 
dawn. She longed to leave the place where she had 
learned her destiny. Once back in the safety of her 
brothers’ care and love, she felt that she would not 
be afraid. 


Chapter 

w 



SIEGFRIED AVENGES 
HIS FATHER. 


JT THE court of Hjalprek 
there were again days of high feasting and tournament. 
Siegfried had returned. Drifting toward the hall came 
every famous scald in the northland and all were made 
welcome. There was a new saga for them to learn and 
another song of Siegfried to be sung. For long they 
had travelled the lands telling of the half-wild child 
raised under the evil spells of the dwarf Mimir. They 
had regarded the boy as a figure of enchantment and 
not the flesh and blood substance from which true 
heroes are made. But now they must change their 
song. Siegfried was a man, tried and proven. His 
last deed was one so startling, men spoke of it with 
more than awe. There was not a chieftain in the 
north who would not pause in the midst of his drinking 
and merrymaking to hear of Siegfried’s slaying of the 
dragon Fafnir. The gold coins tinkled in reward for 
the added tale of the Nibelung hoard and the cursed 
ring of Andvari. When the fire-ride to Brynhild was 
sung, the silence throughout the hall was like the 
stillness of the vast empty snow-fields, in the long 
winter season. 

And a new Siegfried had come home. The quiet 
sensitive boy was gone. Instead, a keen-eyed man with 


212 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


213 


a wealth of humor in his talk and a great capacity for 
feasting and carousing joined the king’s men. Hjordis 
found that her son was a man, full-grown and not in 
need of her. Hjalprek rejoiced that the name of 
Horned Siegfried graced his court. From the oldest 
earl down to the impetuous young thrall, Alf—Sieg¬ 
fried was made welcome. In the short space of a fort¬ 
night he knew the names of many and a few were 
engraved on his heart. How long could they keep 
him? What would they not give to have him among 
them for all time. But the day came when Siegfried 
went to Hjalprek and the king knew what the youth’s 
words would be before they were spoken. 

“O King—here have I stayed with you, and I owe 
great thanks and reward for the love and honor and 
gifts accorded me. Now the time comes for my de¬ 
parture—you will understand that I must go.” 

“You go to Gothland to avenge the death of your 
father, Siegmund,” said Hjalprek. 

“Yes—I go to make my first war upon many. I 
should like to go alone, proving that the Volsungs are 
not all dead—but they would easily vanquish me. I 
ask of you a favor—the strength of your ships and 
your men to accompany me.” 

“All that I have is yours,” said King Hjalprek. 
“The time has come when my court lies unmolested. 
A charitable rule does much to maintain peace. There 
will be little danger for us who remain on the estates 
if you leave us a reasonable guard. Your war-gear 
must be of the stateliest and your ships beautiful as 


214 


SIEGFRIED 


well as sturdy so that your entrance into Gothland will 
be glorious to look upon.” 

“While you call the armies together and see to their 
equipment, I should like to ride down to the sea and 
inspect the fleets at the ship yards. Is this the wish of 
your majesty?” 

“My wish is your wish—let me say it once again,” 
smiled the king. 

“Very well,” laughed Siegfried happily, “I shall give 
a splendid imitation of the king himself as I choose 
a ship beautiful enough to dazzle the mightiest.” 

“Is there anyone here you wish to accompany you, 
Siegfried?” 

Siegfried shook his head in denial—but then turned 
back, adding thoughtfully, “Yes—the young thrall 
Alf—there is a special feeling for him in my heart. 
You remember we rode here together that first time.” 

“The boy will be immensely pleased,” said the king, 
“he has never forgotten his siege of the robber’s den.” 

When Alf was summoned to report to Siegfried, he 
turned hand-springs among the house-carles and 
bondsmen. They surveyed the broad-faced freckled 
thrall with envy. What had he done to deserve so 
great a distinction? 

“Pooh—you have no stomach for war, I vow,” said 
the highest cup-bearer in disdain. “Why does he want 
a short-faced mottled red-head like you about?” 

“I am to go with him while he chooses a ship for 
himself,” said Alf proudly, “he has great faith in my 
good taste.” 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 215 

“Good taste—the suckling speaks of good taste,” 
screamed the other thralls in glee. 

“Taste this then, young fellow, and see how good it 
is?” they cried raucously, forcing the unpleasant con¬ 
tents of a bowl of sour curds down his throat. 

Alf sputtered and choked and vowed his revenge 
when he came back from the wars with Siegfried. 

“But Siegfried has a horned skin to protect him and 
yours is as milky white as that of all milksops,” taunted 
one of the cooks. 

“We must bathe him in something—what shall it 
be?” they cried. 

“Hot broth!” 

“Melted tallow so that he can light the way for 
Siegfried.” 

“The milk of a cow.” 

“In ale—good ale!” 

“In ale—good ale,” they took up the cry, and before 
Alf could stop them they had stripped off his white 
clothes and pushed him under—head and all—in a 
giant tun of ale. 

“And he shall be known throughout the northlands 
as Aley-Alf!” they chuckled. 

“And his shield shall have upon it a horn of mead.” 

“And his sword shall be engraven with ale-runes.” 

In the end Alf managed to escape, clutching his 
white suit under his bare arm. Reeking of strong 
ale, he ran straightway into Siegfried. 

The thrall tried to duck his head and dash past 
unseen, but Siegfried, sensing some horse-play, blocked 


216 


SIEGFRIED 


the boy’s path and said smilingly, “What’s your hurry, 
young caitiff?” 

“I have—I have—I have to take a sw-w-wim,” said 
Alf, turning as scarlet as his flaming hair. 

Siegfried let him go his way, and nothing more was 
said of the ale bath when the two set forth to the ship 
yards a little while later. At first Alf was shy—partly 
because the bondsmen had taken all the conceit from 
him—but Siegfried soon put him at ease. 

“Remember the robber’s den,” said Siegfried, “you 
played the part of the fool well, Alf. Watch out or 
they will be making you do it often.” 

Alf laughed merrily, “Will I ever forget putting my 
head right into a robber’s den—it might as well have 
been a hornet’s nest,” he chuckled. 

“The gods were with us. I knew it when I saw the 
sack of meal,” said Siegfried. 

“None but you would have been clever enough to 
turn the meal into a weapon greater than any sword,” 
Alf said shyly. 

“Will you ever forget how frightened you were 
when I started to walk toward the king in the hall?” 
laughed Siegfried. 

“By my troth—I was certain that you would trip 
on a lady’s skirt!” cried the thrall. “I turned to the 
old earl and told him so, but he seemed to have read 
your disguise better than I did.” 

“But it was no disguise,” smiled Siegfried, “I must 
have been a strange figure in my animal skins.” 

“A magnificent figure, sir,” Alf said in awe. 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


217 


“Come—forget all this magnificence,” laughed Sieg¬ 
fried, “unless we look for it in a ship.” 

The journey passed quickly and they came to the 
pounding sea in the late afternoon. The ship sheds 
were inspected at once, and in them they found a 
dragon-shaped ship that seemed made for Siegfried. 
It was ornamented above the water line with gold and 
fine dragon heads were on either end of it. The 
tightly furled sail was woven with the fineness of a 
woman’s gown. The weather-vanes were of gold and 
the color on the ship was the gayest red and purple. 
There were many rooms, each as luxurious as a king’s 
bower on land. An emblem already flew from the 
masthead. It was Alf who cried out upon discover¬ 
ing it: 

“Look, Siegfried, the ship is yours. The emblem 
there has your image upon it and the slain dragon at 
your feet.” 

And Siegfried saw that indeed the pennant had been 
spun in the design of his deed at Glittering Heath and 
Horned Siegfried were the letters woven thereon. He 
knew that the building of this ship was the task that 
Hjalprek had ordered done in his absence. He loved 
the ship at once, even as he loved his horse Greyfell— 
they were his own possessions. He sent Alf to choose 
the rest of the fleet while he examined his own vessel 
from mast to keel. He found that it was one hundred 
forty feet long. They said that it would take one 
hundred huskarls to man her. 

Siegfried mounted Greyfell and rode swiftly back 


2l8 


SIEGFRIED 


to the court. He left Alf to see that the ships were 
provisioned and made ready to leave at an early day. 
There must be a long council talk with King Hjalprek 
to learn the names of the best warriors and to choose 
the defenders of Siegfried’s own dragon ship. 

Greyfell thundered over the roads and carried his 
master to the court by nightfall. Siegfried hurried to 
the high-hall and the seat of the king. 

“There are no words to speak my gratitude,” Sieg¬ 
fried cried, “it is a ship that every man might dream 
of for a life-time and never call his own. What Norse¬ 
man living does not thrill at the thought of a sea-fight 
—every bondi owns a craft of some sort—but only a 
chosen few may have such a ship as mine.” 

“Hjordis and her women worked upon the sails and 
banners,” said the king graciously, “and I myself rode 
to the shipyards to see that the smiths and the other 
craftsmen put the best of their trade into the ship’s 
body. It had to be a dragon—for well we know that 
you will come home with the deed of your dragon¬ 
slaying known throughout the north.” 

“May we talk of the choosing of the crew,” said 
Siegfried. 

“Yes—I wished to bring the matter to your attention 
at once,” Hjalprek turned and dismissed the men who 
sat near him, and soon the great hall was empty save 
for the king and Siegfried. 

“The most valiant men must be stationed at the 
prow and the stern, is it not so?” said Siegfried 
imperatively. 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


219 


“You are right. That is where the most decisive 
battling takes place. There you must put the chapmen 
who know the ship best. I think that you will find my 
standard-bearer the bravest of any on the seas—he is 
called Finn the Red. Surround him with such men 
as Thrand Strongarm, Olaf the Dodger, Leif of the 
Horn. On the forecastle, in the bows, men of greater 
years should go—I would suggest Bjorn High Nose, 
and his three brothers, men of mighty stock. They 
will lead any others of weaker fibre. In the stern 
Thorstein the Tall, Erik Bronzebeard, Einar Fang- 
tooth, and the rest of the warriors of great height and 
strength. Station the weaker crew at midship.” 

“Is there need of a chart or do your seamen know 
the route to Gothland?” said Siegfried. 

“We have several aged and shrewd mariners who 
will take no part in the fighting but will go with you 
simply because they are the worthiest of sailors and 
know the sea as you know the great forest looming 
near us.” 

“Then we may start as soon as the weapons are as¬ 
sembled and the men marched to the fleet,” said 
Siegfried. 

“Or to say it another way—you may start dawn after 
this dawn,” was the king’s answer. 

And even this time seemed far off. Siegfried feasted 
that night with the king and his mother. They tried 
to make him tell of his adventures but his mind was 
too full of the adventure that lay before him to speak 
of events already passed. 


220 


SIEGFRIED 


He met their questions with polite answers. Then 
they saw him turn to his own thoughts again and they 
both were filled with a nameless fear that the adven¬ 
tures he would meet the rest of his life would bring 
him less happiness and good fortune than those he 
had thus far encountered. 


In a certain pale dawn the fleet commanded by Sieg¬ 
fried moved silently from the harbor like phantasms of 
the sea mist. There were ten ships, ranging from a 
small vessel that could scud its way through the 
narrows and reefs judging the depths for the larger 
ships, to the beautiful golden dragon that belonged to 
Siegfried himself. The passage was a long one but 
Siegfried gloried in it because he had never made a 
sea voyage before. For three days the wind was in 
their favor and the fleet had smooth sailing. But on 
the fourth day a storm broke and all men were put to 
baling as the great waves dashed over the decks. Sieg¬ 
fried watched the surging main and for the first time 
felt the power of an elemental force. He refused to ac¬ 
knowledge its sovereignty, and when the sailors cried: 

“May we take in the sails ?” 

He answered, “You may not.” 

The fury of the storm did not abate. It seemed at 
times as if the whole sea rushed over them and they 
waited, deluged by the spray, to see if they were still 
afloat. At last they sailed past the rocks of a ness and 
they saw standing on the promontory an old man in a 



In a certain pale dawn the fleet commanded by Siegfried 
moved silently from the harbor li\e phantasms of the sea mist 























SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


221 


deep blue cape and a broad brimmed hat. He hailed 
the dragon ship and cried to be taken aboard. 

Siegfried knew that the Wanderer had once more 
crossed his path, so he turned the ship landward and 
took in the sails. They passed the headland near 
enough for the Wanderer to leap aboard. 

“We are pointed toward the Baltic,” said Siegfried, 
“you are not unwilling to leave the northlands?” 

“Concern yourself not with my wanderings,” the 
old man said quietly. 

Siegfried led him away from the curious gaze of the 
sea-farers. 

“You have always come when I needed you,” Sieg¬ 
fried said, “so I must believe that I need your wisdom 
now. Tell me this, Allfather, since you know well 
the fate of all of us—the good and the ill of mankind— 
what shall be the outcome of this battle and what is 
the farsighted command that the leader of the fleet 
shall give?” 

The old man said: “The sea-battle will be yours 
and your own wit will find a way to win it. But after 
that will come a land battle which will not prove so 
easy a victory. Follow the rules of the world of token 
and superstition. Look for a dark-winged raven— 
seek two men standing on a long road—listen for the 
wolf howling under ash boughs. Do not let any man 
fight with his face turned against the moon, and have 
each warrior fair-combed and well washed. Feast well 
on meat before you fight and do not drink ale until the 
battle is done and the homeward voyage begun.” 


222 


SIEGFRIED 


Before they reached that sea-zone where the shores 
they sought loomed mistily, the Wanderer had dis¬ 
appeared. The crew were afraid, for they thought 
that a man overboard boded no good. But Siegfried 
told them that this one that had come on to their ship 
from the rocky ness was of the gods and good cheer 
reigned again. The storm subsided and all believed 
that the Wanderer had ordered its departure. 

By the time that they had neared the harbors of the 
Goth king, an arrogant fleet of ships had set forth from 
Gothland to meet them. It was not an easy task to 
judge how many ships were against them and how 
each ship was manned. For a moment panic surged 
through Hjalprek’s men. They saw that the Goth 
ships were coming toward them, confident and war¬ 
like, and they mistrusted the power of Siegfried. 
What could a young woodsman and swordsman know 
of warfare on the main? 

Suddenly they heard a strange command from Sieg¬ 
fried. Their faces blanched and terror filled their 
breasts. What madness did their leader propose? 

“Bring me the small askar and unman it,” Siegfried 
said. 

The small bobbing boat that was used as a pilot 
through treacherous shoals was ordered to the side of 
the great dragon. Shrugging their shoulders, the 
dumbfounded crew left the boat. They saw Siegfried 
carrying a curious hooded cap in his hand, jump down 
into the askar. 

“Hold the fleet as nearly still as is possible. Let the 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


223 


dragon ship form the center of the block and keep the 
ships together. Watch me and when I turn the askar 
back toward you come quickly forward in a line, ready 
to attack.” 

They thought that he was mad. The greatest 
warriors of King Hjalprek hid their disbelief from the 
common crew, but in their hearts doubt persisted. 
Thrand Strongarm paced the deck with set lips. He 
did not answer the mumble of protest that went up 
from the attending ships. Erik Bronzebeard shook his 
head almost imperceptably as his eyes met the bewild¬ 
ered gaze of Finn the Red. Erik said: “Yes—it is 
harder for you who have never yet let the standard fall 
on a warship.” 

“I have never won a battle by standing still and 
letting the enemy come upon me” Finn said hotly. 

Just then a hoarse cry went up from the men in the 
other boats. The crew of the dragon searched the 
waters for its cause. The cry was echoed from their 
own throats. A strange unreal sight met their eyes. 
Bobbing along on the deep billowed swell was the 
small askar. Where Siegfried had stood but a moment 
before, there was no one. Indeed—nowhere on the 
open decks was there visible a single man, and yet the 
askar sailed as if it were guided by some strong hand. 
The superstitious knelt down on the decks, convinced 
that the gods had intervened. The sterner warriors 
simply watched—incredulous and startled. The 
phantom ship sailed straight into the midst of the 
enemy fleet. The boats were thrown into the wildest 


22 4 


SIEGFRIED 


confusion. The Goths were helpless. What good 
did the throwing of spears do when they pierced the 
wood of the small boat instead of the hearts of the 
invading host? The enemy slowed their ships, afraid 
of the trick. What if the gods were veiling the Norse 
crew until they were blockaded in a perfect position 
for an attack? 

The askar sailed placidly in their midst. Little they 
knew that Siegfried stood with a tarn-cap on his head 
—as invisible as the children of the mist. Unseen by 
the Goths, he was able to count their numbers, their 
weapons, and their ships. At last the askar turned 
about with a creaking of sails. It was caught in a 
calm for a moment and then lifted by the rush of the 
swell again. As soon as it pointed about, the invading 
host of Norse ships lunged forward like unleashed 
hounds. The askar met them half-way. The crew 
saw the figure of Siegfried appear suddenly on the 
deck of the little ship. His command reached the 
first man and was repeated on and on to the others. 

“Attack the wings first. The smaller ships are 
there. Jump from them to the larger ones until you 
come to the center ship which is the main bulwark. 
There are seven vessels on each side of the great vessel 
in the middle,” was Siegfried’s message. 

“What are their weapons?” someone cried. 

“Spears and arrows. I have seen no grappling 
hooks. Use ours at once and without pity.” 

Then the horns were blown by the northmen and 
at the same moment the war-horns of the Goths 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


225 


sounded. Both sides shouted a war-cry and the battle 
began. It raged fiercely at first—in a tangled con¬ 
fusion of flying arrows and spears, and a terrible crash¬ 
ing sounded as onslought of both fleets met in a shiver¬ 
ing collision. The Goths with no plan of attack were 
helpless when they saw the northmen’s fleet separate 
and attack their wings as if by a premeditated design. 
All that the Goths could do was to fight bravely—with 
javelins and spears, hand-to-hand duels with short 
swords when the chance offered and a continuous at¬ 
tack of arrows whenever they came within shooting 
distance of the northmen. But more than this the 
northmen did. They held fast to the smaller ships of 
the Goths with grappling hooks—clearing the vessels 
systematically of their crew, taking possession and pass¬ 
ing on to the next ship as if each vessel of the fleet was 
but a stepping stone to the one beyond. Men were 
tossed into the sea like the shattered spars and broken 
masts that a storm carries away from a ship. They 
were hurled like scraps of food to the gulls floating on 
the waves. The Goths fought fiercely and blindly. 
They attacked their own men in their confused efforts 
to gain control of the situation. But steadily the north- 
men demolished—at first the little ships and then on to 
the greater ones until finally only the great war vessels 
in the center of the array were left to finish the fight. 
Some of the northmen were slain as well, and several 
of the ships had retreated and separated from the line 
of attack. Siegfried became very angry when he saw 
this and boarded a smaller sculd, ordering the oarsmen 


226 


SIEGFRIED 


to steer back to the vessels that lagged uncertainly 
behind the others. 

“You lubberly cowards/* he cried, “call you this a 
seaworthy attack? The points of your spears are silver 
—better they shall fasten in your own limbs than go 
unstained entirely with blood.” 

His harsh words stirred them to anger and they 
rushed their ships forward in a new attack. This rein¬ 
forcement was like an added thrust to the pressure 
already bearing down upon the Goths. There was a 
last spurt of flying javelins—a last sprinkling of falling 
arrows, and a truce was called by the Goth fleet. Two 
hairless old men came forth ingratiatingly to meet Sieg¬ 
fried. They had removed their war-helms, display¬ 
ing their horrid baldness as if it were some stark 
immodesty. 

“The battle is yours,” they said. 

“So we were beginning to think,” mocked Siegfried. 

“You are northmen—but may we ask the name of 
you who are the leader?” said the Goths. 

“You may ask, but I may not care to answer,” 
scoffed Siegfried. 

At that moment one of tnem saw the dragon emblem 
that Siegfried wore. The Goth started backward in 
horror. “You are not that far-famed hero, slayer of 
Fafnir the dragon, the last of the Volsung line, and one 
who is called Horned Siegfried?” 

“I believe I may lay claim to all of that,” Siegfried 
said. 

“You are not content with the sea battle then?” the 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


227 


Goth said tremblingly—“come—if we give you all of 
our fleet, will you turn about and set sail for the north 
again?” 

“There is not much left of your fleet to give,” Sieg¬ 
fried said. 

“Why have you come determined to let loose fire and 
sword and lay waste our lands?” whined the other old 
man. 

“Why did the Goths come and lay waste the fair 
lands of the Volsungs, capture my grandfather through 
treachery and slay my father in a battle drenched with 
brutality? I come to avenge and not to seek a war of 
my own making. This day the last of the Volsungs 
will beacon forth in Gothland like the flame that de¬ 
voured my people. The Goths will die with their 
throats haltered with a cord, their carcasses thrown to 
the ravens and their columns of warriors ground to a 
powder.” 

The next day the first land-raid was made, and a 
great company of Goths who had watched the demol¬ 
ishing of their own fleet met the invading hosts of 
northmen courageously. But they soon fled before the 
face of the enemy. Word went to the king of the 
Goths and he sent a war message throughout all his 
realm, summoning to him all that would give him 
aid. He came against Siegfried with a great army and 
a furious land battle was waged. There was the rais¬ 
ing of spears and of axes among all Goths. They came 
in a rushing defense array to beat back the enemy, and 
shields were cleft and byrnies torn in their first mad 


228 


SIEGFRIED 


attack. But gradually the northmen regained the 
ground they had lost. They moved forward steadily 
—slowly at first and then with a sureness that sent the 
Goths fleeing in panic. Helmets were rent asunder 
and skulls split as men fell in their attempt to escape 
the pursuers. And foremost in the fray strode Sieg¬ 
fried. He went before the banners of his people and 
his sword Gram smote down both men and horses. 
Nothing would hold before him and he sent men 
squealing like frightened rabbits from his path. The 
time came when the king himself met Siegfried face 
to face. When the sword Gram pierced the coat-of- 
mail and found the heart of the ruthless Goth leader, 
the end of the fighting was marked. 

The northmen, filled with power, longed to go forth 
and lay waste further, but Siegfried shook his head 
sadly. He was the greatest fighter of the age—but at 
the same time he was the greatest man of peace. He 
turned wearily back toward the ship. He had obeyed 
Odin and kept his men in splendid condition. They 
had entered the battle each morning, washed and fed. 
They had obeyed the curious omens of battle-lore. 
And victory was theirs. Siegfried had fulfilled the 
oath he had made in the temple of Hjalprek’s court. 
Siegmund was avenged and the Goths had lived to 
regret their treachery against the Volsungs. 

“Before we sail for home, I wish to go directly north 
to the old hall of the Volsungs where the famous tree 
Branstock grows,” Siegfried directed Finn the Red. 

And so the great fleet of Hjalprek’s ships and the 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


229 


Goth ships conquered by Siegfried, set sail for the land 
of the Volsungs. For many days the ships voyaged, 
and the sea was calm for the most part since it was the 
summer season of the year and the high storms of 
autumn were not yet upon the waters. The first land¬ 
ing place in the north was at a certain seacoast town 
where a vast trading fair was in progress. Trading 
ships from the south had come from expeditions into 
lands as far east as Samarcand. As Siegfried’s fleet 
approached the harbor, he saw the gayly painted mer¬ 
chant ships and a curiosity came over him to see the fair. 
He took with him certain of the warriors and the head¬ 
man, Finn. They were welcomed by many people 
who had watched the incoming fleet with awe. For 
the best part of a day Siegfried walked in the booths, 
bartering for wares with a gay abandon that his com¬ 
rades found difficult to understand. They did not 
know that he was striving his best to forget the scenes 
of destruction he had left behind him. He purchased 
fine furs and costly clothes. At last Finn said 
curiously: 

“Do you wish to return with cargo on the ships?” 

“No,” Siegfried answered, “I have a desire to see the 
hall of the Volsungs once more decked out as it was 
in the glorious olden days when my father feasted 
there” 

The men of Hjalprek fell in with Siegfried’s wish 
readily. Not one of them but had heard of the line of 
the Volsungs. The tree of Branstock was almost a 
legend in their minds. They sailed further north 


2 3 0 


SIEGFRIED 


along the shore and came at last to a jagged rocky coast¬ 
line. The ships seemed to move cautiously as a sen¬ 
sitive horse feels his way along an uncertain path. 
They reached the harbor of the forgotten land of the 
Volsungs. It looked as if no ship had anchored there 
for many moons. Ice floes still lined the shore, 
strangely illogical ghosts of winter on a summer day. 
There was a mournful plashing of water on the rocks. 
The whole scene was one of desolation and gloom. 

Siegfried landed his men and ordered them to carry 
the bales of fine tapestries and silks to the hall. He 
was the first to go through the porch pillars—opening 
the lacy ironwork door with strong hands. He paused 
for a moment on the threshold. It was just as he had 
dreamed it would be. Little mattered that the shields 
on the walls were tarnished and the draperies torn and 
colorless. It was a great hall—the greatest any of them 
had ever seen. It was built on such a massive scale that 
it seemed as if giant men must have lived there. The 
high roofing was like a dark sky high above them. 
Down the length of the hall were rows of pillars made 
of the mightiest trees and in the very center stood the 
tree called Branstock, like a colossal column of rock. 
Siegfried went closer and saw in the gnarled bole of 
the tree a deep crevice where the sword Gram had 
struck and been pulled forth by Siegmund. 

“Festoon the hall as you have festooned the high- 
hall of Hjalprek,” he ordered. The men worked 
feverishly, carried away by the thought of those men 
of the past who had dwelt where they now stood. 


SIEGFRIED AVENGES HIS FATHER 


23 1 


They relived in their minds the saga of the Volsungs. 
They decked the throne carved of rugged wood with 
cloth of gold and they dreamed of the king who had 
once sat there. When the hall was as glorious as any 
living king’s, Siegfried ordered his men away. He 
did not want drinking and feasting here. It was a hall 
where feasting and jesting were done. 

Siegfried surveyed the empty room. He saw a 
shining green lamp with curious golden figures on it 
and knots of gold hanging from it. He saw the loom 
of some woman of the court, empty of threads. In 
spite of the rich decorations, it seemed an abandoned 
house. Siegfried was filled with a desire to make it 
live again—to people it with brave warriors and lovely 
women. In his heart was a strange stirring. He 
looked at the dais beside the rugged throne, and he 
remembered Brynhild and wished that she were with 
him that they might rule here together. 

After awhile Siegfried went out from the hall. He 
ordered the crew back to the ships and the fleet turned 
homeward. As the crew drew near their own familiar 
harbor, their spirits rose. Victory was sweet! They 
would be hailed as heroes. Another song would be 
sung of Horned Siegfried! He had sailed a ship, in¬ 
visible to all, and spied out the enemy so that victory 
for the northmen was certain. Ah yes—there was no 
one like Siegfried. They loved him in every mood, 
the ruthless warrior, the merry companion, the regal 
son of the Volsungs. There was not one among them 
who was sorry he had sailed with Siegfried to Gothland. 


Chapter^ | ' 

XHi 


1 SIEGFRIED DEFIES 
THE GODS 


I H 


HESE were days filled with 
fear for Hjordis, the mother of Siegfried. She faced 
the future courageously but her heart was filled with 
foreboding. Well she knew that Siegfried would not 
remain content with his laurels already won. He had 
conquered with ship and sword alike and been pro¬ 
claimed worthy of his name, but soon he would be 
tormented by the desire to conquer anew. Hjordis 
went to the king and said to him: 

“Hjalprek—tell me who are the most dangerous 
warriors of the north?” 

“Ourselves, my dear,” smiled the king proudly. 

Hjordis looked thoughtful. Then there was no 
danger for Siegfried in their own land. 

“Tell me, Hjalprek—what war-like tribes dwell 
near us to the southward?” 

“The most warlike of the tribes near the Rhinelands 
are the Saxons. They are a great sea-power. They 
plunder and burn and slay their enemy without mercy. 
Nearer the river there is a fiercer tribe still. They are 
called Burgundians and their men are more than mere 
plunderers. Their court is renowned for its culture 
and riches and the beautiful little princess Gudrun 


232 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


233 


dwells in the castle, saying that she will marry no man 
because of her love for her three brothers. A tribe I 
should like to meet—in war or in peace,” mused the 
king. 

Hjordis looked at Hjalprek with troubled eyes. The 
king was startled at the appeal he read on the beautiful 
face. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Nothing—nothing—only should Siegfried ask you 
this same question I have asked will you lie to him con¬ 
cerning these warriors of the south? Do not let him 
leave the northlands for his conquests.” 

“I will do what I can,” said the king, “but Siegfried 
is not to be bridled like a young colt and he is not to 
be bidden this and that by another. None is strong 
enough to master him.” 

Hjordis went slowly back to her looms, to spin and 
weave a cloth of silk whose shimmering lights were 
dimmed by her tears. And so it was that a few days 
later terror struck her heart when she overheard her 
son’s laughing voice outside her window. He was 
talking with young Leif, son of the earl of Bittersweet. 

“Leif—she is the loveliest among women and she 
knows how to be merry instead of glooming the way 
that most women do.” 

“But you cannot believe that she will ever marry 
you?” Leif cried in wonder—“A Valkyrie, Siegfried— 
subdued by mortal man—I should not think it pos¬ 
sible.” 

“Nay—that part of it I do not fear, nor did she. She 


2 34 


SIEGFRIED 


had some idea that the gods have decreed other des¬ 
tinies for us, but that does not frighten me away.” 

“What other destinies?” inquired Leif. 

“Oh—there is a princess called Gudrun—I do not 
even remember where she dwells. Brynhild says that 
I am fated to marry her. Of course I don’t believe it.” 

“Gudrun—I wonder if it can be that famous Gud¬ 
run?” mused Leif. 

“What do you mean?” asked Siegfried. 

“Why—there is a lovely Gudrun who lives in the 
court of the Burgundians. She is surrounded by a 
garden of roses and guarded by eleven warriors and 
giants. She does not wish to marry because she loves 
her three brothers so dearly. No man dares to attempt 
to meet her because the Burgundian king is so strong 
and the princess’ guard so heavy, the hero would prob¬ 
ably never live to see her face.” 

“It might be sport to pretend I was her suitor,” 
laughed Siegfried. 

“Nay—her court lies a long way to the southward 
and the men are weary after battling the Goths. Wait 
awhile until the army is eager for a fight—and a real 
one. To see Gudrun promises more than a mere 
quarrel, Siegfried.” 

“Bah—you exaggerate the terrors of these Burgun¬ 
dians. It is true the army needs a rest. I will take 
with me ten men so that we will be evenly matched 
against the eleven guards in the garden of roses and 
set forth at once for the southern court.” 

As Siegfried cried these words joyously, the door 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


235 


of the hall swung open and Hjordis came out. She 
was very pale and her slender hands reached out to 
her son. 

“Siegfried—believe me,” she said pleadingly, “if you 
go to the court of the Burgundians you will meet with 
harm. You will lose Brynhild whom you love and 
wed this Gudrun whom the gods have chosen to be¬ 
witch you.” 

Siegfried tossed his golden head and laughed loudly. 
He walked to meet his mother and pulled her unwill¬ 
ing hands down to his sides. 

“You think that anyone can marry your son against 
his will?” he teased. 

“Siegfried you do not know what you are saying,” 
the eyes of Hjordis were frightened. 

“Let the gods do their best,” cried Siegfried boister¬ 
ously, “let them try to mate me with Gudrun when it 
is Brynhild that I love!” 

Leif was as pale as the queen. Siegfried had defied 
the gods. It was a blasphemy that could not go 
unpunished. 


“Tell me, good king, what I may expect when I 
have sailed down the Rhine as far as the court of King 
Giuki, the Burgundian?” Siegfried asked, as he made 
ready for his new adventure. 

“Before the city there is a garden of roses, seven miles 
in length. It is surrounded by a silken thread alone— 
but whoever breaks through the thread and tramples 


236 


SIEGFRIED 


the roses is immediately attacked by one of the eleven 
guards. These guards are instantly summoned by 
some magic means to the garden of enchanted flowers, 
and the intruder has little chance for his life.” 

“Tell me of the eleven guards?” Siegfried said. 

“First there is the good King Giuki himself—” 

“Why do you call him a good king?” 

“Because he is deserving of the title,” said Hjalprek, 
“he maintains a noble court, a prosperous kingdom. 
He loves his daughter dearly and guards her at her 
own request. She it is who would rather wander 
through rose paths with her three brothers than meet 
the heroes who come to woo her. And so the king 
and ten men are always aware of the silken barrier. 
Should any man break it he will be met by the king, 
the three brothers, Gunther, Hagen and Guttorm, by 
Folker, Pusolt, Schruthan, Ortwin, Aspeian, Walter of 
Wachsenstein, and Standerfuss, sturdy and arrogant 
giants and warriors.” 

“Well, I am not afraid of them—giants or warriors 
all,” said Siegfried, “I am not going to woo their treas¬ 
ure Gudrun, but to see their court, what manner of men 
they are—and what manner of woman the gods would 
give me for a mate.” 

“It grieves me to hear you scoff, Siegfried,” said 
Hjalprek gravely. “If the tale of your light talk of 
Gudrun were ever heard upon the Rhine, you could 
never ride into the land alive. Gunther and Hagen 
and Guttorm are known to me. They are men of 
power and of skill—and more important than that, 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


237 


they love their sister so dearly they would fight with 
super-strength any man who regarded her as you are 
doing.” 

Siegfried flushed at these words of reproof. “I am 
sorry I seemed to make mock of a maiden I have never 
seen,” he said. “My words bore no ill will. The 
truth is I am keen for an adventure of some sort, and 
I have seized upon the Burgundians as warriors worthy 
of my bravest efforts. I will leave this week for the 
Rhine kingdom.” 

“With a host of my men, I beg of you,” Hjalprek 
said, all his sternness gone. 

“Nay—with enough men to meet man to man the 
eleven guards of the garden of roses.” 

“Be that as you desire,” sighed the king. “Your 
mother wishes me to tell you that if you insist upon 
this venture she will clothe you and your warriors in 
raiment that is worthy of the northlands.” 

“You may tell the queen to have the raiment made 
ready,” smiled Siegfried, “and bid her weep not for 
there is naught to fear.” 

Day and night, Hjordis and her maidens worked 
upon the raiment. The mantles were made of white 
silk brought from Arabia and of green silk from the 
land of Zazamank, embroidered with many gems. 
The covers of the mantles were made of the skins of 
strange fishes, covered with silk from Morocco and 
Lybia. The choicest ermine was used for borders and 
the heroes were richly adorned with gems set in 
Arabian gold. The horses with their golden reins and 


238 


SIEGFRIED 


saddles inlaid with rubies and sapphires were taken 
on a strong vessel and in Siegfried’s golden dragon ship 
sailed the eleven brave men. 

The hour came for farewells. For the first time 
Hjalprek and Hjordis seemed to doubt the strength 
of Siegfried. They wept silently and the dread of the 
king and the queen swept through all the ranks of 
maidens and men who had come forth to wave good- 
by. The warriors were sad and the young girls hid 
their heads in their veils. But the last word of Siegfried 
rang out joyously and full of courage: “For my sake,” 
he said, “you must not weep nor have fear for me and 
for my life. You must rejoice in my adventures. There 
must not be death in the bed by odious old age for 
Siegfried! Let the Norns summon me upon a battle¬ 
field” 

The sea was still and the journey to the mouth of 
the river uneventful. When they reached the river, 
Siegfried and his eleven men landed on the banks, 
instructing the sailors to stay anchored there the full 
passage of the moon and then if they had heard naught 
from Rhineland to go back to the court of Hjalprek 
and bring a great army of northmen to the court of the 
Burgundians. Siegfried and the ten men set forth 
along the shore. The sun shone upon their armor 
of ruddy gold and their fair-fashioned trappings; 
shining breastplates, shimmering mail and silken 
martingales. The sharp javelins and swords hung 
down to the bright spurs of the warriors. Upon the 
seventh morning, the men paused in their riding. A 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


239 


faint sweet perfume filled the air. The fragrance was 
heavy and inescapable like the perfumes of Arabia and 
those spicy clinging attars of crushed flowers that come 
from the Orient. It was a moment before Siegfried 
realized they must be approaching the garden of roses. 

“There may be some magic in their garden,” he 
mused. Hesitating he wondered if it were best to meet 
enchantment with some plan of subtlety. But he was 
impatient and more of a warrior than a thinker. He 
had grown scornful of the ways of magic in the old 
days at Mimir’s grotto. Lifting his sword high, he 
spurred his men on to whatever fighting was to be 
done. 

They came to the garden. The roses were scarlet 
and white—row upon row of them. The breeze rip¬ 
pled through the hedges and bowed down the proud 
blossoms. The silk thread that barred the warriors 
from the flowers was nearly invisible. From time to 
time the sunlight touched it and it stood out like the> 
single pale shimmering strand of a cobweb. Siegfried 
and his men leaped forward, trampling the roses and 
breaking the thread. They had gone little more than 
half a mile through the seven mile garden when they 
saw men come riding toward them. On foot beside 
the horsemen were giants, reaching far above the 
mounted figures, so tall that the rose bushes grew like 
short plants at their feet. 

To Siegfried’s amazement when the host of Burgun¬ 
dians approached him, they bowed low. And Sieg¬ 
fried reared in Grey fell just in time to keep from 


240 


SIEGFRIED 


crushing the first man of the Burgundians who had 
dismounted from his horse and was kneeling among 
the roses. 

“We are wondering,” said the stateliest of the 
strangers whom Siegfried guessed to be the king, 
“whence comes this noble Siegfried and what he seeks 
in our kingdom of the Rhine?” 

“I have come from the northlands,” answered Sieg¬ 
fried, “and I will not conceal from you the reason of 
my coming. Tales were told me in my father’s land 
that here with you lived the boldest of warriors. I 
came that I might know the truth of this. Likewise 
I have heard boasting of your valor, that no bolder king 
has ever been seen and no sterner man has ever guarded 
a pretty garden of roses. This the folk related to me 
and I was curious to meet you. Tell me before I speak 
more of my mind how you came to know my name?” 

King Giuki answered him: “My son who is named 
Hagen guessed your name. Though he had never seen 
the Horned Siegfried he had heard tell of him from 
minstrels. He knew you by your horse Greyfell, the 
sword you carry that is twice the span of other swords, 
and by your daring. Who else but Siegfried, son of 
Siegmund, would dare to enter the garden of roses 
with only ten men at his side. The last host came five 
hundred strong to trample the blooms, but Pusolt 
revenged the injury and the brothers of Gudrun 
crushed the invaders as easily as if they were frail 
blossoms. Tell me, do you come in peace or come in 
war? We have not attacked you though we have sur- 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


24 1 


rounded every other company that has broken the 
silken thread. But you are no ordinary man. Your 
name is noble and we are proud to welcome you to the 
land of the Burgundians.” 

In spite of these friendly words, Siegfried maintained 
his air of haughtiness. He was first of all the warrior. 
He said carelessly: “I also have been born to wear a 
crown. I would bring it to pass that men of the Rhine- 
lands shall say of me: Rightly he rules both folk and 
land. Of this shall my head and honor be a pledge. I 
have come to make your lands and castles subject to 
my hand.” 

The king and his men were startled at these calm 
words. The knights were quickly angry and put their 
hands to their swords. Gunther cried: “Shall we lose 
by the force of any man that which my father has ruled 
so long with honor? This ruthless Siegfried should 
have been treated with the ruthlessness we have ac¬ 
corded lesser men than he.” 

“I will not give up my plan,” Siegfried stated coldly, 
“unless your strength is greater than mine. It is a fair 
offer. Should you conquer instead of me, my ances¬ 
tral lands of the north will be subject to your sway. 
Your lands and mine shall henceforth be ruled alike 
—which of us triumphs over the other shall be ruler 
of both estates and peoples.” 

Gunther spoke quietly: “Farcomer—listen to our 
words. We have no wish to claim other lands than 
this one of ours. It becomes us ill to end a hero’s 
life. The world is barren of such men as you. Ap- 


2 4 2 


SIEGFRIED 


proach and meet us pleasantly. Come to the castle and 
join in our tourneys and be one of us.” 

The others did not keep their tempers as well as the 
gentle Gunther. Grimly Ortwin of Metz cried, “It 
irks me too much to hear these words of peace from 
you, Gunther. The mighty Siegfried has defied us for 
no just cause. His haughty mien is unbecoming— 
sorely discourteous in the garden of roses.” 

“Tell me what irks most mightily,” teased Siegfried, 
“that I shall lay my hands on the dominion of the 
Burgundians or that I surprised you by casting aside 
your words of peace?” 

The Burgundians fumed and whispered in angry 
conference. Before they had come to any decision, 
they heard the low laughter of the hero of the 
north. They turned to see him, standing aloft in his 
stirrups, putting his sword back in his belt, tossing his 
golden head as he laughed loudly. 

“How seriously you take me,” he said, “I could not 
withhold these rough threats when I saw what manner 
of men you were. I had expected a battle fraught with 
grave danger and I found courtiers bowing at my feet. 
It was too good to miss. I have played with you, my 
friends. I do not fight with those who are not of a 
mood to battle. Gladly will I go with you to the 
court.” 

The Burgundians looked sulky and confused. Only 
King Giuki laughed—for he was old enough and wise 
enough to see when a joke was aimed at him and 
cleverly played as well. 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


243 


“Welcome again then, Horned Siegfried,—and take 
what you will from my kingdom. I think that I may 
trust you.” 

“What I take, then, will be single-handed,” smiled 
Siegfried. As an act of his good faith he turned to his 
ten strong warriors. “Return to the ships at the mouth 
of the Rhine,” he ordered. “Set sail for the court of 
Hjalprek, reporting to the king and to Queen Hjordis, 
that Siegfried has chosen to visit awhile with the king 
of the Burgundians.” 

“You dare to stay unattended?” cried Lief, the closest 
friend to Siegfried of all the northmen. “How do you 
know that this gentle welcome of the Rhine people is 
not some trickery?” 

“The day will come, Lief, when you can read the 
hearts of men even as Siegfried can,” smiled the young 
hero. 

Lief looked longingly at his friend—waiting the 
desired word to linger. But Siegfried turned away. 
There was nothing for the northmen to do but to gallop 
off, leaving their amazing comrade at the mercy of a 
whole kingdom of strong men. 

“Only one thing must be said to you,” the blunt 
words of Hagen brought a look of haughtiness to Sieg¬ 
fried’s eyes, “if you have come to woo the little princess, 
Gudrun, you may well follow your squires away. It 
is not that we will prevent you by force—we need not 
stoop to this. Gudrun herself prefers the love of her 
three brothers to the love of a husband. She does not 
desire any man. Since she dreamed a strange dream 


244 


SIEGFRIED 


she will not hear your name in her presence. She may 
refuse to see you and no amount of bravado can win the 
heart of an unwilling girl.” 

“I have not come to see Gudrun,” smiled Siegfried, 
“I am betrothed to the glorious Brynhild. A man who 
has heard the tumultuous words of a Valkyrie hearkens 
not to the baby chatter of an untutored princess.” 

Hagen’s face darkened, but he shrugged his 
shoulders as if the matter were done. In his heart he 
was surprised to find that relief had surged over him 
at Siegfried’s words. Had the northman avowed his 
intentions of winning Gudrun, Hagen had little doubt 
that Gudrun’s other two brothers would have found 
the thought as unbearable as he did himself. Siegfried 
would have had to fight for his life. 

The king led the way back through the garden to 
the castle. As Siegfried rode into the courtyard, he 
found himself searching the crowd that welcomed 
them for one who might be Gudrun. There were 
lovely maidens—but none among them, he felt sure, 
was the little princess. He saw the tall strong woman 
with heavy yellow braids and clear far-seeing grey eyes 
who was crowned queen. He was told that this was 
the wife of Giuki and the mother of the three princes, 
one Grimhild. As he met her direct gaze the feeling 
came over him that she was an opponent worthy of his 
strength. 

“So you have come,” she said slowly, “as my 
daughter dreamed you would.” 

For a moment he was chilled—perhaps the gods 


SIEGFRIED DEFIES THE GODS 


245 


were stronger after all. They had predicted his com¬ 
ing, then, to Gudrun as well as to Brynhild. 

“I have come,” he answered with dry humour, “to 
make your daughter dream.” 

“The question is if you will even see her, do not 
forget,” interrupted Hagen crossly. 

“But I have already seen her,” laughed Siegfried. 

They looked at him in amazement—and following 
his gaze they saw the startled eyes of Gudrun peering 
down from a turret window. At the sound of Sieg¬ 
fried’s laughter, the golden head disappeared quickly 
from sight. 


(Chapter 1 I SIEGFRIED AND 

I GUNTHER SWEAR 

BROTHERHOOD 

* HE Burgundians rejoiced in 
the presence of the hero Siegfried. He became one 
of them, riding in their hunts, sitting at their feasts. 
King Giuki came to look upon the young Northman 
as a son and talked with him concerning the most inti¬ 
mate matters of his kingdom. The brothers of Gudrun 
were at first wary of him, but when they found that 
he loved the Valkyrie Brynhild and regarded their 
sister as nothing more than a playmate, they too re¬ 
ceived him whole-heartedly. What the Queen thought, 
no one knew, but it was suspected that she had some 
plan for him that would be as profitable to herself 
as to Siegfried. 

Siegfried was eternally gay with all of them. His 
favorite among the brothers was the gentle idealist 
Gunther. The two were curiously suited. Where Gun¬ 
ther met life gravely, Siegfried loved to be merry. 
When Gunther brooded, Siegfried carried him away 
from thoughts of himself by racing with him, dueling 
with him, or pummeling him joyously. What Gunther 
did for Siegfried was to listen patiently while the young 
northman poured out his dreams and plans. He gave 
the gift of sympathy and a close friendship that 
Siegfried had never had with a youth of his own 


246 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


2 47 


age. Gradually the most sacred things in Siegfried’s 
heart were bared to Gunther. The serious-minded 
Burgundian was stirred by stories of the northman’s 
youth. He found himself amazed at the high moments 
in the life of his golden-haired friend. There was no 
envy in Gunther’s being, but he learned to love all that 
Siegfried loved as if it were his own. Soon he had little 
of his old life left. His dreams were, like Siegfried’s, of 
the glorious Brynhild and his desire was for adventures 
that equalled Siegfried’s own. 

The little princess Gudrun was at first shy of the 
commanding newcomer at her father’s court, but at 
last she too accepted him and treated him as if he were 
another brother to love. Gudrun shadowed Gunther 
and Siegfried and heard a great deal of their confi¬ 
dences. So it was she learned that Siegfried loved 
Brynhild more than anything on earth. At first she 
was relieved. Her dream need not disturb her. Sieg¬ 
fried was not destined to be hers after all. As the days 
passed, Gudrun’s young heart ached for what might 
have been. But she did not admit to herself that she 
would have liked Siegfried for her own. 

King Giuki loved above all merrymaking at his 
court, the jousting of the knights in his tournament 
grounds outside the city. As soon as Siegfried had 
proved himself a friendly visitor, the king sent forth 
messages to all the Rhinelands that the greatest tourna¬ 
ment of the year would be held. The prizes were to 
be coffers of dazzling treasure and the event would 
have for its audience all noblemen of the court and the 


248 


SIEGFRIED 


fairest women of Burgundy. And now every day 
brought warriors to take part. Some were followed by 
bold and haughty trains arrayed brilliantly for the gala 
tourney. Often a single youthful champion came rid¬ 
ing with only a shield and a sword to mark him off 
from common men. Thirty or more princes traveled 
from surrounding kingdoms to Giuki’s court. 

The seats and boxes in the pavilion were assigned to 
nobles of the court and to the high-born guests. In 
honor of Siegfried the Viking flag flew beside the 
pennons of the Rhinelands, its bold war-like raven 
seemed to challenge battle. The boxes that lined the 
lists were bright gold and hung with emblems and 
heraldic devices. They were ornamented within as 
richly as castle rooms, hung with tapestries and heavy 
curtains. Marshals and heralds were stationed about 
the grounds while the varlets and thralls stood ready 
to hand forth new weapons to replace those shattered 
in the fray. 

The warriors and knights had gathered. All was 
ready for the entrance of the ladies. Music blared from 
the trumpets. Rich chamberlains came marching. 
Then those who waited saw the proud Grimhild enter¬ 
ing the lists with her child, Gudrun. A train of fair 
women followed them, dressed in glowing colors. 
Gudrun was in snowy white. Her golden head shone 
uncovered in the sun, while all the other maidens wore 
quaint caps. Gudrun carried three roses in her hands, 
picked from the enchanted garden. These she gave 
to her brothers, tokens that her heart was with them. 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


249 


Siegfried stood apart from the other nobles of the 
court. With his long red-gold hair curling about his 
shoulders, he was like a beautiful figure limned on 
parchment by some ancient master of illumined manu¬ 
scripts. When Gudrun saw him she wished that she 
had given him a rose also, and she ran to the king and 
whispered in his ear: 

“Sire, let the prize for the bravest man in the tourna¬ 
ment be a garland of roses from my garden.” 

The king was pleased. This was a gift worth more 
than the golden caskets filled with jewels, for the little 
princess had given it. The heralds announced the 
prize and Gudrun watched Siegfried with anxious 
eyes. She half expected him to call to her that he 
would win her offering, but he did not once turn in 
her direction. 

Trumpets sounded to announce the first charge of 
horsemen. Siegfried and the other knights of higher 
merit, stood beside their horses to watch the lesser men 
fight. Jet-black horses with golden reins rode into the 
lists. Falchions flashed. There was the scream of a 
wounded hero—the clatter of falling shields. Fair 
women waved brilliant pennons. The entrant accorded 
the victory was a blond young man from a kingdom to 
the south. He was called Karl and this was his first 
tourney. Gallantly he enlisted in the next round. 

So round by round passed, and at last those knights 
left in the ring were men worthy of the notice of the 
sons of Giuki and the stranger Siegfried. Now began 
the famous charge of the day—men who had not sat a 


250 


SIEGFRIED 


saddle for years rebelled at their old age and wished 
passionately for a horse and a sword worthy of this 
entry. The young striplings who sat in the boxes with 
their mothers and sisters longed for the day when they 
would be old enough to fight in a tournament. Every 
maiden felt her heart leap high at the sight of the dozen 
men left for the finish. 

The trumpets blared with a new note. Flags un¬ 
furled. Ribbons waved. The first clash of arms was 
like a thunder-clap. For a moment the fighting was a 
furious tangle. It was impossible to see which knights 
had the upper hand. The first man to fall was the 
blond Karl who had fought so gallantly in his first 
tournament. He had met more than his match in this 
final encounter. In the brief space of a moment he 
found his shield split asunder, his sword wrenched 
from his hand and his horse wounded. It took two 
squires to pursuade him to leave the lists. The fire of 
the fight was in his blood and he would have liked to 
find another mount. The judges ruled him out— 
partly in kindness. It was easily seen that the knights 
had unhorsed him rather than killing him outright. 
They might not be so patient if he persisted in match¬ 
ing his youthful daredeviltry with their tried strength 
and skill. 

A second and a third charger staggered off the 
grounds. Soon the sons of Giuki and the stranger, 
Siegfried, were the only warriors left. Hagen and 
Guttorm and Gunther signaled a truce, for the brothers 
had never fought a fight to the finish among them- 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


251 

selves. They had no wish to kill each other and the 
tourney at this point had come to the place where 
killing alone would settle a victory. Everyone waited 
for Siegfried to withdraw. But he did not do so. He 
turned to the judge and said: 

“I came to the land of Burgundy to seek fame. Two 
choices confront me: the one to fight bravely to victory, 
the other to leave the lists with these brothers. Should 
I do so shame would follow me. Call forth any 
champion to fight a duel with me. We will not fight 
to the death but to the other’s downfall. We will not 
fight upon our horses for I have no desire to wound a 
charger. Let us follow the rules of my country—put 
down a skin or a cloak and fasten it to the ground. 
Mark three squares, each one foot wide, outside the 
boundary of the cloak. Put four hazel poles outside 
the squares and he who goes beyond them is said to 
have retreated and is thus vanquished. Let each man 
have three shields. When the third is shattered the 
battle shall be done.” 

The heralds called for a champion. None answered. 
At last Gunther came forward. His face was very 
white and he looked angry. He said very sternly: 

“You who are called Siegfried! You show greater 
love for battle than for peace. The Burgundians have 
learned that peace is as great as the clash of swords. 
The sons of Giuki called a truce—not because they fear 
a fight to the finish but because they do not care to 
hurt needlessly. You have challenged the Burgundians 
with your Viking carelessness. You who fear nothing 


252 


SIEGFRIED 


—even death—play merrily at battle. Peace is un¬ 
known to you. I accept your challenge because I 
have listened to your stories of glory and been stirred 
by them.” 

Siegfried hesitated a moment. He did not want 
to fight Gunther. He had come to love this serious 
Burgundian with a rare warmth. It was too late to 
withdraw. The squires had thrown the mantle on the 
ground and fastened it to the earth with wooden 
pegs. Shields were brought forward and Gunther 
stepped into the square. Siegfried who had made the 
challenge was forced to stand until the first thrust of 
the man he had challenged was made. Gunther’s 
sword struck the golden haulberk that Siegfried had 
brought from the Nibelung hoard. The thrust scarcely 
dented the metal. Siegfried’s lunge brought the an¬ 
swering ring of a shield cleft in two. Gunther fenced 
in vain with Horned Siegfried. The sword Gram 
spoiled the young Burgundian’s three shields in as 
many times as it took to thrust each one. The crowds 
roared with excitement at this mighty feat. With the 
cleaving of the third shield, Gunther fell. 

A death-like silence filled the lists. From the royal 
box, Gudrun’s voice broke the stillness. “Gunther— 
Gunther.” The people saw Siegfried drop his sword 
and his shield and kneel at Gunther’s side. The tall 
fair Norseman listened for the heart-beat of his oppo¬ 
nent. Those who stood near enough heard him 
whisper: “Gunther—it is I—Siegfried—you must not 
die. You are the only friend I have. Come—it was 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


253 


only play—I saw that the point of my sword did not 
touch him—he cannot be hurt badly.” 

Perhaps it was Gudrun’s kiss that stirred Gunther 
back to consciousness. In a moment he stood up 
weakly and put his hand willingly into Siegfried’s. 
Gudrun fled like a frightened deer back to the shelter 
of the royal box. She trembled with happiness. Gun¬ 
ther lived and Siegfried had proved he could be gentle. 
The maiden had heard his soft words when Gunther 
lay as if dead. 

Suddenly—as men made ready for departure—her¬ 
alds began to cry forth a proclamation. They told the 
people to wait. A strange ceremony was to be enacted 
before them. The word spread like a flame. Siegfried 
the Northman wished to perform an ancient rite in the 
presence of the Burgundians. It was the custom in the 
northlands for valiant men who had fought against 
each other and admired the bravery of one another, to 
swear a sacred and binding oath of brotherhood. It 
was one of the most touching and beautiful things in 
a man’s life. The Burgundians were filled with pride 
that Siegfried had chosen one of their tribe for this 
tribute. Gunther had long loved Siegfried. Pale and 
weary as he was from the duel, he insisted that the 
ceremony of their oath be taken at once. So the turf 
was cut from the ground and raised in a loop so high 
that a man could go under it. Siegfried looked at 
Gunther and said with deep feeling: “One and the 
same fate may come over us”—and they bound them¬ 
selves to each other for life, to be unselfish and true, to 


2 54 


SIEGFRIED 


share the same danger and to avenge each other’s 
death. They walked beneath the garland of turf and 
there drew their own blood, mixing it together with 
the earth. They fell on their knees calling upon the 
gods to witness their oath and clasped each other’s 
hands fervently. 

Never had the people of the Rhinelands taken part 
in so brave an event as the tournament given by King 
Giuki in honor of the stranger Siegfried. They were 
to remember the events of the day for many years, and 
not least of the activities—the curious bond of brother¬ 
hood that two men so far removed from one another in 
tradition and birth gave into one another’s keeping. A 
day was to come when all the world would remember 
again that Gunther and Siegfried had been foster 
brothers. 

Hagen, the moody one, was envious of this gift 
that had come to Gunther. None knew this save the 
gentle-hearted Gudrun. She felt her brother’s jealousy 
and did all she could to comfort him. Grimhild in her 
turn sulked over the new comradeship between the 
little princess and her favorite son. Only the good 
king and his stupid Guttorm rejoiced in the relation¬ 
ship of Siegfried and Gunther. The nobles of the 
court whispered together over this new turn of affairs. 
It seemed inevitable that some harm would come from 
the fierce-hearted jealousy of Grimhild and Hagen. 

But days passed peacefully. And now the songs of 
Siegfried were heard in the Rhinelands as well as in 
the north: 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


255 


Suddenly to Alberich, Siegfried the hero ran, 
And by his hoary beard he caught the ancient 
man; 

Down to the earth he threw him: for mercy 
did he pray, 

When by the champion's might, on the 
ground he lay . 

They sang of his ride through Brynhild’s fire: 

The flame flared at its maddest, 

Earth's fields fell a-quahjng 
As the red flame aloft 
Licked the lowest of heaven. 

Many maidens of Burgundy watched the hero ride 
past on his noble grey charger, and mused wistfully 
upon his haughty ways. He seemed filled with the 
bleak cold spirit of the Northlands. The men of 
Burgundy were eager and warm-hearted. This far- 
comer was stern and withholding. Those of the 
Rhinelands who had never been to the Northland 
could well imagine the land that rang with the howl 
of wolves, the sweep of hail, the grinding of ice. They 
were awed by Siegfried. He had withstood all the 
miseries of the cheerless ice country as well as battling 
the dreariest waste of waters in the north. 

None guessed that the sensitive and gentle Gudrun 
sorrowed that the brave hero did not honor her with a 
glance. The princess grieved more deeply than any of 


256 


SIEGFRIED 


the other maidens in the land. Siegfried rode blindly 
on his way, secure in the first deep happiness of his 
troubled life. He loved two people—Brynhild and his 
foster brother Gunther. Around these two he built his 
life. Brynhild had ordered him to test his love for her 
by staying away until the spring of the next year. He 
was obeying her desire and was happy because the year 
was nearly over and his love had not waned. Gunther 
needed him to stay near, for troubled times had 
come to the Burgundians that only the king and his 
eldest son were aware of. Siegfried waited to hear how 
he could help the clan that had been good to him. One 
day the good king called him and told him the fears 
of Gunther and himself: 

“Siegfried, listen to me. Strange tales have come to 
our lands brought by messengers sent from afar. These 
are stories of warriors who bear us unreasonable hate. 
These warriors I shall name to you: there is Liudeger 
of Saxon land, a great and lordly prince, and from 
Denmark, Liudegast, the king. It is said they have 
gathered many lordly strangers as well as their own 
men to come to battle with us. The journey will be 
made within twelve weeks. Do you think I should 
parley with these foes and try to come to some truce 
without a battle?” 

“You have good friends in the Rhinelands who will 
help guard your castle,” said Siegfried simply, “and 
you have Horned Siegfried who comes from the north 
where no truce of peace has ever been made before the 
clashing of swords.” 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


257 


“Send for Hagen and Guttorm,” the king directed 
Gunther, “I will bide my time until I hear their 
words.” 

Guttorm who had never thought upon serious things 
in all his life, was proud to be summoned by the king. 
But his opinion was the reckless one of a boy, made 
without forehtought: “Of course we will fight the 
foe, sire. The only ones among us who will die in the 
battle will be the fey, those doomed by fates to perish 
at this time. So let them die. For their sake let us not 
forget our honor. Welcome the foe! ” 

Hagen spoke more thoughtfully. “It looks serious 
to me, father. Liudegast and Liudeger are arrogant 
and strong foes. It will be difficult to summon our 
men in so short a time.” 

Siegfried interrupted the gloomy Hagen. He spoke 
with curt impatience and commanding voice: “It will 
not be difficult to summon men. I can promise you 
that. Gunther and I will ride through the kingdoms 
to the south and round together enough soldiers to win 
the war. Should your foes have thirty thousand men, I 
will need but a thousand to conquer them.” 

King Giuki said at last: “You shall be the com¬ 
mander, Siegfried, and we will serve you. It will be 
a glorious day if we can conquer the Saxons.” 

“Let the envoys of the enemy ride home to their 
masters’ lands. Give them gifts to show your generous 
disposition and to prove how slight you regard their 
threat. Tell them if they stay at home you are their 
friend, but if they seek you in your own land, hardships 


258 


SIEGFRIED 


beyond anything they have endured will await them 
here,” Siegfried ordered. 

This was done by Giuki. Merrily the envoys from 
the Saxons and Danes set forth with caskets filled to the 
brim. They returned to their masters with messages 
of war. Siegfried was the only one in Burgundy who 
waited impatiently for the end of the twelve weeks. 
The gloomy Hagen predicted ruin. Giuki tried to 
push doubts from his mind, but when he looked at the 
young face of Siegfried he feared he had put his trust 
too readily in a boy’s dream of glorious deeds. Gunther 
who loved Siegfried beyond anything in his life, feared 
for what he had done. He could not bear the thought 
of Siegfried’s humiliation if the Burgundians were 
conquered. 

Now every day the smithies rang with the making 
of new weapons. Gudrun and the maidens of the 
court worked upon mantles and pennants. Embroid¬ 
ered banners were mounted on great poles. Warriors 
poured in from the countryside to receive weapons and 
to learn the plans of the fighting. Each morning 
Gunther and Siegfried mounted their chargers and 
rode forth to enlist new soldiers. The words of Sieg¬ 
fried rang like a clarion call through hamlet and way- 
side. Men saw the grey charger pass. They caught a 
glimpse of a magnificent figure with hair of bright 
gold and features of strength and beauty. There were 
few who did not mount and follow him as they heard 
his stirring words: 

“To arms—to the aid of your king! The Saxons are 


SIEGFRIED AND GUNTHER 


259 


coming! Ride to the court and join the ranks of 
Giuki.” 

By evening, the roads were dusty from galloping 
horsemen. The light of the warrior’s fires burned in 
the streets of the city. When Siegfried came riding 
homeward, he found that many men called to him in 
passing. They were men he had inspired to join 
the ranks of the king. Greyfell carried his master 
swiftly through the lines of eager followers. Siegfried 
lifted his hand in salute. 

A nervous unrest filled the hearts of Giuki’s men. 
Guards of the king were watching on the river and 
posted outside the city. The time came when all were 
armed and there was nothing to do but await the 
arrival of the enemy. This was the most difficult task 
of all. The undercurrent of unrest bred a certain fear. 
The soldiers went about looking pale and weak. King 
Giuki suffered doubts of their prowess. Had Siegfried 
urged him on to his downfall? 

Gudrun vowed in her gentle heart that if Siegfried 
had led her father into some treachery, she would 
somehow avenge this wrong. She treated the young 
hero coldly and threw herself more ardently than ever 
into Hagen’s company. Grimhild watched jealously. 
If the young Siegfried conquered the enemy, Grimhild 
had a plan for him. He would serve her purpose well. 
She who longed for only one thing on earth—the love 
of Hagen for herself, would marry the hero to the 
impressionable Gudrun. Well she knew that her little 
daughter would not be hard to convince if Siegfried 


26 o 


SIEGFRIED 


saved the King. Then she would have Hagen for 
herself. 

Siegfried was the only one in Burgundy who did not 
brood and worry over the coming struggle. He would 
have been astonished if he could have seen the intricate 
workings of the minds of those who surrounded him. 
The young hero devoted every waking hour to encour¬ 
aging and directing the soldiers. Then he went calmly 
to his room to rest. If anyone had told him that little 
Gudrun planned his death should her father meet 
defeat, he would have laughed incredulously. And if 
he had learned that Grimhild planned to steal him 
from Brynhild and marry him to her daughter, he 
world have dared her to try as he had once defied the 
gods. But he knew none of these things. He thought 
only of the dangers that must be overcome in the 
battlefield, and so it was that more dangerous matters 
than a war began to surround him. 

And in a state of high tension the city awaited the 
first blare of its war-trumpets from Saxony. 


Chapter 

XK 


TA/ 

W” 


THE FIGHT 
WITH THE SAXONS 


ORD reached King Giuki at 
last that the Saxons and the Danes were approaching in 
different battalions. King Liudegast and his men of 
Denmark were the advance guard and behind them the 
unbelievably strong forces of the Saxons were lying in 
wait. King Giuki summoned the men-at-arms of his 
own kin and the liegemen of his brothers. These he 
made ready for a journey, for he desired to send forth 
a troop of his own rather than to wait for the oncoming 
host. Folker, the daring, was given the flag to bear 
and Hagen was master of the troop. With him rode 
Sindolt and Hunolt, Dankwart and Ortwin. Sieg¬ 
fried, the champion, was given no orders. He could 
come and go as he pleased and his command was above 
all men’s. Then Giuki disappeared into an inner room 
and came forth attired in battle array. Gudrun wept 
softly when she beheld her father and her favorite 
brother making ready for the dangerous onslaught. 
Siegfried, seeing her tears, turned to the king and said: 

“Sir King, stay here in the court and let your war¬ 
riors follow me. Remain with the ladies and keep their 
spirits high. Hagen and I may be trusted to guard well 
both your honor and your estate. I promise you that 


261 


262 


SIEGFRIED 


I will bring it to pass that those who thought to seek 
you here upon the Rhine would better far have stayed 
at home. We shall ride forth to meet them and their 
proud defiance shall be turned to fear.” 

King Giuki looked longingly at the prancing horses 
in the courtyard. He touched his sword with eager 
hands. But his eyes turned toward the silken head of 
the fair Gudrun. He saw her frail hands covering her 
eyes that he might not see her tears. 

“You are right, Siegfried, there is need of me here,” 
he said. 

The last good-by was between Gunther and Sieg¬ 
fried. 

“I may not come with you, then, brother?” Gun¬ 
ther’s voice trembled. 

“Nay—should anything happen to us, there must be 
a strong and ruthless hand to avenge us and to save the 
court of the Burgundians,” Siegfried answered. 

“Yes, you are right,” Gunther said. 

The troop was off. From the Rhine they rode 
through Hesse towards Saxon land. As they neared 
the border, they slowed their pace for they knew at any 
point they might come upon the advance guard of 
Liudegast’s men. They approached the bottom of a 
ridge. Siegfried called a halt. 

“There is no need of galloping blindly into the 
encampment of the enemy,” he said. “I have a feeling 
that our men lie beyond this ridge. Hagen, divide 
your troop, and put different leaders at the head of each 
company. I myself will ride over the ridge and take 


THE FIGHT WITH THE SAXONS 


263 


the post of outlook. When I have discovered how 
many warriors are in this first guard, and where the 
great Saxon armies are placed, I will return and we 
can make our plans.” 

“The valiant Dankwart and Ortwin shall guard the 
rear,” said Hagen, “Gemot and myself the front lines.” 

“I am off, then,” cried Siegfried. 

As Greyfell climbed the ridge, Siegfried wondered 
for a moment at what he had done. His own safety 
was of little importance, but the safety of the Burgun¬ 
dians was a sacred trust. He thought of the fierce 
Saxon soldiers invading the beautiful castle. He pic¬ 
tured young Gudrun in an agony of fear. It was 
enough to spur him on and he urged Greyfell into a 
faster pace. From the hilltop he looked out across the 
plain and saw a mighty host encamped there. The 
enemy outnumbered his men and their strongest forces 
were still in the rear. Siegfried and his horse stayed 
on the hilltop for many moments while he conjectured 
and planned a way out of the trap. 

Suddenly the northman beheld a mounted horseman 
spying upon him. In the full glare of the sun, it was 
difficult to make out who the man might be, his age, 
his weapon, his probable strength. But Siegfried saw 
that the stranger was bold and unafraid. He had 
already spurred his horse away from the troops and was 
coming across the plain toward Siegfried. 

Siegfried did not wait to recognize his foe. He 
plunged down the hill toward the advancing warrior. 
Using their spurs at the same moment, the two horse- 


264 


SIEGFRIED 


men rushed forward and clashed with a rending sound 
of spear meeting shield. The mighty thrust carried the 
horses past each other as if they were borne on by the 
wind. Seizing their steeds by the mane the knights 
wheeled about and once more encountered each other 
with their weapons. Siegfried saw that his foe was 
King Liudegast himself. 

Siegfried smote first before his enemy had barely 
gained his balance. The cry of Gram rang over the 
whole field and bright red sparks flew from the steel as 
if it were a firebrand. Liudegast returned the blow as 
savagely. The shield of Siegfried seemed to shiver 
under the fierce attack. Now began a reeling and 
pitching as if the two horsemen were galleons under 
full sail on a billowy sea. There was a brutish spilling 
of blood and from time to time a hoarse cry of pain 
from Liudegast. Before the King’s guard of thirty 
men could reach him, Siegfried had pierced three great 
wounds through the golden breast-plate bearing the 
Danish coat of arms. The blood from these wounds 
so weakened the King that he fell half-fainting from 
his horse and Siegfried dismounted to help him. 

“Let me live,” Liudegast begged, “you may have 
my lands if you will give me my freedom.” 

“Later I may unchain the bonds,” Siegfried said, 
“but now you must stay in captivity. You may be 
needed as a hostage when the Saxon armies attack us.” 

“And a fine hostage you will make yourself,” Sieg¬ 
fried heard a voice cry. He looked up and saw thirty 
horses ridden by the guardsmen of the king. 


THE FIGHT WITH THE SAXONS 


265 


The fight that followed was one of the most terrible 
Liudegast had ever witnessed. Siegfried, twice forti¬ 
fied—by his stern sword and by his hardy invulnerable 
skin, was safe from the blows that attacked him. But 
in self-defense he slaughtered the guardsmen right and 
left. They fell, calling to their gods for help against 
this demon of the sword. They died with wonder on 
their lips and bewilderment in their eyes! What had 
happened could not be. Single-handed, Siegfried had 
swept aside his foe. Twenty-nine men lay dead—and 
the last of the defeated company fled back to the men 
of Denmark to tell the tale of the king’s capture and 
the wiping out of the guardsmen. 

Siegfried mounted Greyfell and put the fainting 
king Liudegast in front of him on the horse. Then he 
rode swiftly to the troops he had left behind in charge 
of Hagen. When Giuki’s men saw Siegfried returning 
with a captive, they asked eagerly whom it might be. 
The word swept through the ranks. “It is King 
Liudegast of the Danes. It is the king himself! ” And 
the Burgundians were spurred on. They lifted their 
banners high and sent their leaders to Siegfried to beg 
for orders to rush over the ridge. 

“Now that the men of Denmark have no leader, they 
should be easily taken,” Siegfried said. “They are 
encamped a mile away on yonder plain. Come, heroes 
of the Rhine, and I will lead you to Liudegast’s band 
who lie in wait behind the Danes.” 

The stalwart minstrel, Sir Folker, grasped the battle- 
flag and rode before the band of brave men who fought 


266 


SIEGFRIED 


for King Giuki. The warriors rode in comradely fash¬ 
ion. And everyone—from twelve winters up to sixty 
made light of the danger ahead. They called cheer¬ 
fully to one another. Marshals led the troops and 
Siegfried, with a guard of men-at-arms, formed the 
front rank. 

As they rode over the ridge, the war horns were 
blown, echoing for miles in every direction. The men 
of Denmark proved themselves heroic in spite of their 
lost leader. Their fighting was very fierce and terrible 
blows were dealt as the champions rushed furiously 
into Siegfried’s ranks. But the men of Burgundy beat 
them down as summer wheat is flattened by the first 
storm. Frightful wounds were carved. Blood flowed 
over the saddles. When Siegfried had opened a wide 
path through the Danish hosts, he rode through it with 
a part of his men while Hagen and Gernot took captive 
the flanks of the bewildered and beaten enemy. 

When Siegfried had taken the Danish hosts, he 
called his leaders to him and they searched the horizons 
for the camp of Liudeger, the Saxon. Outlooks were 
sent riding in all directions to look for some sign of the 
waiting hosts. Late afternoon brought news that the 
dark shapes of the Saxon tents had been sighted and the 
sun’s rays had caught the glitter of many golden shields 
and helmets. At once Siegfried rode among his men, 
warning them that on the morrow they would meet 
a new host. 

Late that night Siegfried spoke with Hagen. 

“My friend,” he said, “let us not fear the outcome 


THE FIGHT WITH THE SAXONS 


267 


of tomorrow’s battle, but let us take every precaution 
for the sake of the king and your beloved Gudrun.” 

“What do you mean?” Hagen asked. 

“Let us send word back for Gunther to come with 
the last of the Burgundians.” 

“You have no faith then in my leadership?” cried 
Hagen in quick anger. 

“Hagen—speak not before you know what is in my 
mind,” Siegfried said sadly. “I have more faith in you 
and your brilliant ruthless command than in anything 
else. But it remains that Liudeger’s troops far out¬ 
number us. If they should demolish you and me, let 
another troop be ready on the other side of the ridge. 
Let Gunther stop the host from going on. Then if 
Gunther fails—the enemy is still far enough away so 
that little Gudrun can escape before they reach her 
garden of roses.” 

Hagen saw that Siegfried spoke wisely. He flushed 
and agreed that this summoning of Gunther was a 
good plan. They dispatched a messenger and sat down 
to wait until the dawn. 


Scarcely had the sun risen above the horizon when 
the attack began. The onslaught of Siegfried’s hosts 
swept over the plain. At the sound of their horns and 
war cries, the Saxons rushed furiously from their camp, 
advancing with backs bent under their bows and 
dragging missiles as well as their long swords. Then 
with tremendous crashing and thudding, the stones 


268 


SIEGFRIED 


and missiles let fly and both armies seemed to move 
together in a single body. 

In the midst of the fray—seeming to be in all parts 
of the field at once—could be heard the voice of Sieg¬ 
fried—taunting and urging his men to greater deeds of 
glory. He sang to them, praised them, and rushed into 
the face of almost certain death to rescue them. He 
lifted fallen banners and urged the drummers to beat 
louder while he gave orders to the leaders. Wherever 
the Burgundians looked, they saw the tawny-haired, 
lean-bodied stranger who had come from the north to 
lead them to victory. 

The first day of the battle ended, a breathless day of 
destruction. The two armies staggered back to their 
camps wondering what another dawn would bring 
forth. Early in the morning men awoke to the sound 
of the war horns and they charged forward again, 
fighting no less hard than the first day. Night came 
with the Burgundians weaker and the Saxon hosts 
moving nearer the ridge. In the same way the battle 
went on the third day, and Siegfried strode grimly up 
and down that third night, knowing full well that his 
men were beaten unless some miracle came with the 
next attack. 

The fourth day began with the horns urging the men 
to a last effort. The war cries surged over the plain and 
were heard nearly thirty miles away. And now at last 
Siegfried came face to face with the strong Saxon 
leader, Liudeger. This was what he had longed for 
—and his enemy was no less glad to enter in hand to 


THE FIGHT WITH THE SAXONS 269 

hand combat with the young commander of the 
Burgundians. 

When Liudeger saw Siegfried’s upraised sword, he 
was filled with wrath. He met him with a tremendous 
impact. One of the Danes had escaped and told the 
Saxon of his brother’s capture. Liudeger did not doubt 
that this bare-headed young fighter was guilty of 
Liudegast’s falling. The blows of the Saxon were so 
powerful that Greyfell reeled and nearly fell. All 
around the two the battle still waged. Noble princes 
from each side stood their ground. Above the helmets, 
spears cut through the air like silver birds. Bucklers 
and shields were colored blood red. Men were un¬ 
horsed and fell moaning to the earth where oncoming 
chargers trampled them. 

In the midst of the tumult and fury, Siegfried the 
brave and Liudeger the vengeful, rushed at each other. 
At last the shield-plates of the Saxon flew off at a blow 
from Siegfried’s sword. It was at that moment Sir 
Liudeger saw the dragon on Siegfried’s shield. He 
recognized Fafnir’s image and he knew it was the great 
Siegfried of the horned skin who was his enemy. The 
Saxon lifted his hand for peace and blew upon his 
horn. Then he cried loudly: 

“Desist from strife, brave heroes. Before me stands 
the son of Siegmund the Volsung, the strong and 
invincible Horned Siegfried. The foul fiend himself 
has sent this unconquerable warrior to Saxon land.” 

At the command of the king, banners were lowered 
and peace was granted. But the end of the day was not 


270 


SIEGFRIED 


marked for Liudeger. He must follow the lead of the 
brave Siegfried to the court on the Rhine where he was 
to give himself up as a hostage to King Giuki. 

The Burgundians set forth and Hagen and Gunther 
who had come up to the front with his men, rounded 
up the hosts of Saxons like so many heads of cattle. 
These they led forth captive to the Rhine. Ahead of 
the armies, rode the squires to tell all those at the court 
of the victory of the Burgundians. 

And in the presence of the King and Queen Grim- 
hild and the noble women of the castle, a certain squire 
was bidden to tell all that he had seen of the battle. 
The envoy was blood-stained and his clothes were in 
tatters. His face was pale and lined with weariness. 
But he spoke joyfully of the deeds of the men of the 
Rhinelands: 

“Ne’er a coward did we have, but to tell the truth, O 
noble king, none rode so well in the strife and fray as 
did the noble stranger from the north called Siegfried. 
The armor of men was cleft by his sword, the helmets 
of men sliced open by his blade. His horse was like a 
wild bull fighting for its life. Spears bounced off the 
hero’s hauberk as if they had no points to pierce 
him. Whatever the other knights did in the strife— 
whether Dankwart or Hagen or Gunther or all the 
other men of the king, ’twas but a child’s play at war 
compared with the deeds of Siegfried, the son of 
Siegmund. Great woe has been done by the Burgun¬ 
dians. The love of many a Saxon maid lies dead upon 
the plain. The proud Burgundians acquitted them- 


THE FIGHT WITH THE SAXONS 


271 


selves so well they can preserve their honor henceforth 
without the taint of shame. Sindolt and Hunolt, Gun¬ 
ther’s men, Rumolt the brave and many others have 
done such deeds that Liudeger may well rue the 
moment he planned to make war upon the men of the 
Rhine.” 

“And was Siegfried really so very brave?” came the 
shy hesitant voice of Gudrun. The interest of the 
listeners was so centered upon the young envoy, no one 
noticed the flush that stained Gudrun’s cheeks. 

“Of Siegfried—the minstrels will sing. It is not for 
one so poor at words as I am to tell the deeds of the 
dragon-killer,” said the boy. “It was he who captured 
both kings single-handed. He brings them here as 
hostages, as well as armies and weapons and promises 
of treasures in property and land.” 

“Hark—I thought I heard a distant roar like thun¬ 
der,” said the king. 

Those who sat waiting knew that the heroes were 
coming home. The far-away thudding was the sound 
of troops and horsemen. The ladies flew to the case¬ 
ment windows and the King and his guard made ready 
to go forth to the courtyard to welcome the warriors 
home. 

After a short interval, high-mettled warriors were 
seen riding into the land of the Burgundians. There 
came the champions, the wounded and the captive. 
The king hailed his hosts. Men alighted from their 
steeds before the palace. They held aloft their riven 
shields and battered helms. The king gave orders to 


272 


SIEGFRIED 


minister to the wounded and to give food and drink to 
the enemy as well as his own men. Then he asked 
how many of the Burgundians had fallen. 

“Sixty men were lost, sire,” said Gunther sadly. 

“They shall be mourned,” said the king, “but they 
died upon the march, the ending a true hero would 
choose for himself so let us not grieve too deeply.” 

Then Liudegast and Liudeger were led before King 
Giuki. The old man surveyed them with gentle eyes: 
“You are welcome here,” he said, “though much 
damage has been done because of you.” 

“You are well repaid,” said Liudeger bitterly, “and 
you may indeed welcome us for such noble hostages 
were never before taken by any king.” 

“We offer you all our great store of wealth if you 
will but have mercy toward your foes,” said Liudegast. 

“You are both free,” said Giuki slowly, “only this I 
must ask of you—a promise that you do not leave my 
land against my will.” 

“You mean this?” Liudeger cried. 

“I have no desire to continue fighting you,” smiled 
Giuki. 

“You are a great king,” Liudegast said, “greater far 
than my brother or myself. We were greedy for power 
and more power and now we have lost all.” 

The two captives pledged their troth not to leave the 
land of the Burgundians without permission. Then, 
at Giuki’s order, they were taken to splendid lodgings 
and given food and drink. 

For hours the city was in a pleasant and merry 


THE FIGHT WITH THE SAXONS 


273 


confusion. Gay soldiers gathered together their bat¬ 
tered shields for keepsakes. Bloody saddles were 
hidden away that the good women would not weep to 
see what their lords had witnessed. Whole armies of 
leeches were kept busy healing wounds. Soon word 
was brought to the King that the armies who had come 
to join him from south of his kingdom, wished to 
return to their homes. Giuki asked Gunther how he 
might best reward them. 

“Let them ride away now, father, for fair women 
await their return with anxious hearts. But let it be 
known to them that in six weeks they may come here 
to a great feast where treasures worthy of their accept¬ 
ance will be waiting. By then the wounded will be 
well, and all can take part in a day of rejoicing.” 

This the heralds proclaimed throughout the city, 
and men rode away with plans to return on the day 
of the promised celebration. 

At last the city was quiet. Lights flared in the 
houses and many a story was told far into the night of 
the golden-haired Siegfried whose prowess could not 
be equalled by mortal man. At that very moment, 
Siegfried entered the vast hall of the king and kneeling 
before Giuki, made a request. 

“Oh King, long have I dwelt among the Burgun¬ 
dians. Many moons have passed since first I trampled 
the roses in Gudrun’s garden. Now I must ask your 
permission to leave the city. Far in the northland, a 
proud Viking awaits my coming. A promise lies be¬ 
tween us that I will return to Hlymdale in the spring.” 


274 


SIEGFRIED 


Gunther looked appealingly at Siegfried. The love 
of the Burgundian for the young Norseman was 
stronger than ever before. He had watched Siegfried 
on the battlefield and found a hundred new qualities 
to love in his foster-brother. 

“We cannot ask favors of you, Siegfried—for you 
have done more for this kingdom than any Burgun¬ 
dian. But will you grant an old man’s whim and 
remain for the feast of celebration six weeks from this 
night?” asked King Giuki. 

“Of course he must stay,” Hagen said, “it is he who 
made the feast possible.” Even Siegfried realized that 
this was a great tribute from the gloomy warrior. 

“It would be no true celebration without you to win 
the tourney,” Gudrun’s gentle voice murmured. 

But it was Gunther’s silence that finally decided 
Siegfried. He saw that his foster brother could not 
speak so deeply were his feelings in the matter. He 
would stay, then. After all it would not be much 
later than spring when he returned to Brynhild and 
how much more glorious his coming would be with 
tales of the great feast in the Rhinelands to add to 
the story of battle. 


Gkapter 

XX 


T 


HERE was peace in Bur- 


OF GRIMHILD 


THE MEAD 


gundy. The cool grey stones of Giuki’s castle were 
safe from destruction. Fair women might sit at their 
looms weaving threads of purple and gold without fear 
that an oncoming host swept nearer. The shepherds 
and bondsmen in the cottages outside the court walls 
slept dreamlessly for they knew that peace and safety 
lay over the city. The blue-clad armies had come 
back victorious. Swords were sheathed. Battle was 
done. Horned Siegfried had banished fear from the 
Rhinelands. 

Each night in the hall of kings, the minstrels sang 
of the Northman’s deeds. For the hundredth time 
came the clash of cymbals to tell of the song of Sieg¬ 
fried. There was silence in the great bare room. High 
men sat upon seats carved in the stone walls, and they 
were like a part of the stone as they listened. In one 
corner lying upon a silken couch was Gudrun sur¬ 
rounded by her maidens, and the dark Grimhild sat 
near, watching her sons with glittering eyes. She saw 
gentle Gunther at his father’s side, his eyes ever upon 
Siegfried’s fair form; Hagen with his head bowed 
moodily; Guttorm with the radiance of youthful joy 
lifting him to high heaven. 


275 


276 


SIEGFRIED 


Siegfried stood apart. The minstrel’s song, the 
homage of great men, the cool peace of Giuki’s hall, 
filled him with a vast impatience. Now that he had 
promised to stay until Giuki’s feast of victory, he ached 
to be gone. The thought of Brynhild was like fire in 
his brain. He could see her plainly in his mind—as he 
had last looked upon her, dressed in the sea-green robe, 
with her dark coppery hair flying like burnished wings. 
Above the song of the minstrel—telling of Fafnir, the 
fated ring, the mist children—Siegfried seemed to hear 
the voice of the helm maiden. Now it was gentle 
as she mocked his youth. Now he heard her wild 
laughter as she cried out despairingly for her lost 
Valhalla. And he remembered her fierce denial that 
they were meant for each other. Perhaps she had been 
right. The ring of Andvari had plighted their troth. 
It was an evil symbol. Siegfried who had never been 
afraid, before, trembled as he thought of these things. 

The song and the clanking of the cups continued 
far into the night. But Siegfried did not join in the 
merriment. From time to time he went to the high 
narrow windows that were like panels of night-blue 
against the stone, and looked far out over the leagues 
of roses drooping in the moonlight. He was a stranger 
among his friends. Gunther grieved because he did 
not know the thoughts that troubled his blood-brother. 

And now as each day brought the feast of victory 
nearer, the gayety of the Burgundians reached a mad 
climax. Carts bearing the spoils of war were driven 
through the streets of the town, and weavers, herds- 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


277 

men, and vassals all snatched at the treasure. So 
bare-foot men in coarse tunics flaunted veils of gold and 
webs of pearls and the mischievous boys wore jeweled 
crowns and shimmering helms on their sun-bleached 
heads. “This is the wealth that Siegfried has brought 
us,” they cried, and no one denied their words. The 
whole world outside the hall of the kings rejoiced. 

But within the grey stone walls of Giuki’s castle, 
curious things had come to pass. The workings of fate 
had visited the stately halls. Stone walls and moats 
and brawny guardsmen were powerless to protect the 
household against the laughing Norns, and the figures 
of the three dread wraiths drifted in with the shade to 
stalk the peace of the children of Giuki. 

The old king felt the nearness of hurtful things, and 
he watched with anxious eyes those he loved best. And 
so it was he saw that his lovely daughter, Gudrun, 
languished and grew as white as the waxy roses in her 
garden. He was startled by the change and wondered 
what caused it. Calling her brothers to him, he ques¬ 
tioned them, thinking they knew her better than 
anyone else on earth. 

“Gunther, know you why our Gudrun droops like 
a flower?” said the king. “Her eyes are sad and her 
sweet mouth downward curving.” 

Gunther shook his head in bewilderment. He had 
not even seen the change in her. He was far too con¬ 
cerned over his own unhappiness at losing Siegfried 
to have noticed the misery of another. Guttorm 
shrugged his shoulders carelessly and said in answer 


278 


SIEGFRIED 


to his father’s question: “It is spring, father—a maiden 
always languishes in this season.” 

But Hagen the gloomy-hearted foretold what Gud- 
run suffered: 

“The golden-haired son of the northlands has 
brought this wistfulness to Gudrun’s eyes,” he said. 
“None loves my sister as I do and I can read her as 
easily as the runes upon my own sword. Long ago I 
saw that her dream of Siegfried boded no good. She 
grieves, O King, because she loves and is unloved.” 

“Hagen, Hagen,” sighed the king, “you were ever 
one to be morbid. You read a troublous thing that is 
not there. Gudrun’s love is for her brothers—perhaps 
her greatest love is for you alone. She has known since 
first he came here that Siegfried’s heart lies in the 
keeping of the Valkyrie Brynhild. She has not grieved 
before.” 

“Love comes as softly as the summer wind,” said 
Hagen bitterly. “You will see in good time that I am 
right, father. One day Siegfried was only another 
brother to our Gudrun—the next he was a mysterious 
hero who conquered with a sword of the gods and who 
stirred her young heart unmercifully. One thing I 
would say to you, O King. If the hero Siegfried were 
not leaving of his own accord, I would see that he left 
by force.” 

“And yet you too urged him to stay on until the 
feast,” said the king. 

“And since that ill-gotten time, would have torn out 
my tongue,” cried Hagen fiercely. “It is since our 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


279 


troops returned from the battlefield singing the praise 
of Siegfried, that Gudrun has grown sad. Her soft 
eyes dim with tears whenever she sees the proud Viking 
standing at the windows of your castle which look to 
the northward. Siegfried longs to go to Brynhild, and 
Gudrun sees his longing.” 

When good King Giuki repeated Hagen’s fears to 
Queen Grimhild, she flushed with anger to learn of 
her favorite son’s concern for Gudrun. Her jealous 
heart was filled with hate. She vowed that Hagen 
must not have reason to feel sorry for his sister lest it 
draw them closer together. So great was Grimhild’s 
fury that she paced the narrow bounds of her chamber 
one entire night. As the pale light of morning dawned, 
she saw clearly what to do. Gudrun must be made 
happy and then Hagen would put her from his mind. 
In the past he had paid slight attention to his pretty 
sister because he knew she did not need him. There 
was a way where Gudrun would never need Hagen 
again. Horned Siegfried must take the little princess 
into his keeping! 

While Grimhild brooded over her dark plans, 
Gudrun ran through the hedges of roses like a fright¬ 
ened deer. She found a lonely spot where she could 
fling herself upon the ground to think. What was 
this strange unrest? What secret desire troubled her? 
Her plaintive voice mingled with the whispering of the 
flowers and her words might have been the sighing of 
the wind: “I am frail and he is glorious; I am afraid 
and he has no fear. I am innocent and he is wise.” 


28 o 


SIEGFRIED 


And even as she lay hidden among the fragrant roses, 
she saw the bright head of Siegfried framed in the castle 
windows, looking to the northward. She knew his 
longing, and knowing it, she wept. 


Below the Queen’s window the minstrels sang. 
Hosts of men crowded the courtyard. It might have 
been war. The castle gates were flung wide and a 
steady stream of soldiers poured through. They came 
wearing their finest garments and flaunting their most 
brilliant weapons. But their faces were not the faces 
of warriors. Song was on their lips and laughter in 
their eyes. It was the day of the feast of victory. 

Grimhild stood at the narrow casement and looked 
out over the city. She could see the knights riding to 
the lists. The men who had come from the south 
Rhinelands had brought their tents and pitched them 
on the plain outside the city wall. The encampment 
looked like the sails of hundreds of ships. Wagons 
covered with purple canopies moved slowly in the 
direction of the jousting grounds. Men from many 
kingdoms were gathered here: the fair-haired men of 
Hesse, the rugged soldiers from the black forests, fugi¬ 
tives from Saxony and the stern troops of Danes. 
Under the trees in the courtyard were vast kegs of ale 
and stalls where maidens served yellow cheese and 
dark bread. Every moment new guests arrived. Some 
came with bandaged arms or legs; some were carried 
by their friends who did not wish the wounded to 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


281 


stay at home; some lurched through the famous gate 
of Giuki’s court, dizzy with wine and rejoicing. This 
was the feast day for all. At night the captains would 
sit at the table of the king within the castle. But now 
the commoners were welcome. They lay on the hard 
stones munching their bread and cheese and quaffing 
their mugs of ale. They clambered over the castle walls 
when the gateway was blocked by processions of 
people. And no one denied them what they pleased. 

Grimhild looked down and saw the king and her 
sons riding to the lists. They wore coats glowing with 
precious gems and their horses were decked with roses. 
She saw Siegfried come riding—with soldiers beside 
him, before him,—almost upon him. He wore a 
black mantle studded with gold and his golden hair 
was blowing in the breeze. A babbling of voices arose 
until it was like one mighty voice: “All hail—all hail 
to Siegfried! ” 

Grimhild watched until the royal party had passed 
through the gate and was lost in the crush outside the 
wall. The sun was high in the heavens. By the time it 
had gone down in the west, the Queen would be ready 
to carry out her dark plan. She turned from the win¬ 
dow and walked softly to the great stone hearth where 
blue flames were burning. In a pot that hung above 
the fire a liquid bubbled and steamed. Grimhild bent 
over it and her pale haughty features took on the sneer¬ 
ing look of a witch-wife. Reaching into her pocket 
she brought forth the petal of a red rose and the petal 
of a white one. She flung them into the pot where they 


282 


SIEGFRIED 


swirled for a moment before they were sucked down 
below the surface. Then she chanted to herself: 

“A cold and bitter cup shall Siegfried drink to forget 
Brynhild. Mixed with the might of the earth and ice- 
cold sea water, the herbs of the wood, burnt acorns, the 
petals of Gudrun’s roses and a golden hair from the 
Viking’s head. But it is the love-rune carved on the 
chip of a black oak that will wed Gudrun to his proud 
heart.” 

And now Grimhild was ready for the evening. 
When Siegfried entered the banquet hall she would 
await him with the cup of mead she had brewed. 

ffff 

Night came. The city flamed with the bonfires built 
by the wandering troops. There was a pulsing quiet in 
the air. The commoners had had their day of rejoicing. 
They rested together, displaying their wounds of war, 
boasting of their feats in battle, recounting daring 
deeds of the hunt and wagering upon matters as seri¬ 
ous as the king’s strength and as silly as the number 
of cobblestones in his courtyard. 

Evening was dedicated to a celebration for the 
patricians. The great hall of kings, empty and still, 
awaited the coming of the guests. Blue lights flared 
and golden fires ran over the edges of the dishes that 
held them. The long tables were covered with scarlet 
cloths and laid with golden plates bordered in pearls. 
A luminous blue glass reflected the vivid cloths and 
was changed into a rich purple. Shining copper bowls 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


283 

studded with silver points of light were heaped with 
pyramids of fruit to form the brilliant centerpiece. 
There was the pungent smell of burning incense. The 
vassals hurried forth from the great kitchens with giant 
platters of roasts—sheep cooked in sweet wine, ante¬ 
lopes basted golden brown, savory birds, oxen and 
immense wild boars whose wide open jaws were 
stuffed with delicately spiced apples. The musicians 
took their place beneath the vaulted windows and to 
the soft accompaniment of the lyre chanted the songs 
of the heroes as they entered. 

The lesser men were first to come, so that a glorious 
assembly would be found waiting when the King 
reached the banquet hall. Then sang the minstrels of 
Sir Folker, himself a minstrel too, and bearer of the 
battle flag, of Pusolt the giant who guarded the roses 
of Gudrun, of the champions Dankwart, Sindolt, Ort¬ 
win, and Hunolt. They sang of merry Guttorm who 
had not yet grown to full manhood and who was happy 
as a forest bird the whole day long. And they sang of 
Hagen the gloomy-hearted whose shaggy brows hid 
eyes that glittered like steel and whose heart was like 
stone that softened only for the sake of winsome Gud¬ 
run. Gunther came. The songs were loud in his praise. 
He would be the next king by the common choice of 
all of Burgundy. Together came Giuki the king and 
Horned Siegfried—the romantic picture of a frail old 
man leaning on the arm of a bronzed young hero. The 
golden crown of Giuki rested on his silver hair—and 
the silver wreath that Siegfried wore was entwined 


284 


SIEGFRIED 


in his locks of gold. As opposite in all things as in 
this, were the two men. King Giuki loved gentleness 
—and Siegfried sternness. The Burgundians loved 
luxuries and the Northmen wished to endure hard¬ 
ship. Indeed at that very moment Siegfried was view¬ 
ing the enormous extravagance of dainties set before 
them, and remembering a story that Mimir had once 
told him of old Starkad of the north—how the rugged 
warrior was invited to feast with Ingild and the sons 
of Swerting. When Starkad beheld the magnificent 
feast, he scorned its wantonness and steeled his appetite 
against this foreign fashion of the table. He protested 
against the outlandish Teuton habits that had come 
into the northlands and cried: 

“The food of valiant men is raw . . . of old, no man 
put flagons on the tables; the steward filled the cup 
from the butt and no bedizened lackey heaped the 
platter with dainties. The flighty and skittish wife of 
Ingild tickles the palate with a new-fangled feast, she 
pursues the zest of an unknown flavor, raging to load 
all the tables with dishes yet more richly than before.” 

And Siegfried seeing the turnips, the shellfish in 
rows, the cakes swimming in juice, the herb sauces and 
the roasted fowls, chuckled to think of the sturdy son 
of the soil who had denounced the lavish morsels for a 
smoky and rancid fare that he ate alone in a snow-drift. 
More than ever the young Northman longed to leave 
the land of the Burgundians. 

The songs that welcomed King Giuki and Horned 
Siegfried were drowned in the clamor of voices raised 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


285 


in greeting. It was easy to see the great love that the 
Burgundians bore these two. They cheered until King 
Giuki and his chieftains stood at their places and lifted 
their hands for silence. Then the whole vast assembly 
turned toward the door, awaiting the coming of the 
queen and the princess, accompanied by their train 
of lovely maidens. 

Suddenly they heard the arrogant voice of Grimhild 
the queen. “Hurry along, little one,” she said. “Put 
away this listless air. We go to a feast of triumph, do 
not forget.” 

There was a subdued murmur and a moment later 
Gudrun stepped through the doorway, her golden head 
bowed shyly beneath the lamp suspended above the 
entrance, and her tiny golden sandals clattering on the 
stone floor. Her creamy robe with flowing sleeves was 
bound tightly at her slim waist by a rope of rubies and 
over her shoulders hung a short wine-colored cape of 
rare material. She walked like a princess—her slender 
body swaying with the music and there was a regal 
look about her as she stood in the flare of hundreds of 
candelabras. 

A soft sighing went through the hall. Gudrun, the 
daughter of Guiki, was sought by many men. The 
champions of the Rhinelands were startled by her deli¬ 
cate beauty. They longed to fight new battles that they 
might gain her approval. She did not seem to even 
hear their whisperings. She walked straightway to 
the seat between Gunther and her father. For a mo¬ 
ment it seemed as if she wavered when she passed by 


286 


SIEGFRIED 


Siegfried, but she did not speak and he bowed to her 
gravely as the other noble men did. 

King Giuki received her and the queen took her 
place at the opposite end of the long table. With cere¬ 
mony, they were seated. To the right were the war¬ 
riors and to the left the prophets of the Temple, their 
curious purple mantles hanging straight from their 
shoulders to their sandled feet. Later the task of the 
priests would be the sacrificing of beasts upon the 
altars that the gods might know the gratitude of the 
people of Burgundy. 

Soon the presence of Grimhild and her gentle 
daughter were forgotten. Men leaned their elbows 
upon the table and talked hotly of the battlefield. They 
crunched the bones of roasted dainties and rudely 
drank their fill from the royal tankards. When the 
dancers came to entertain them, they shouted mirth¬ 
fully at the twisting figures and applauded the strange 
bird cries that the entertainers used to attract attention. 

Gudrun felt her head grow dizzy at the scene before 
her. The lighted censers with their curling smoke 
seemed like witch-cauldrons casting their evil spell 
over the hall. She shivered with dread and knew not 
what she feared. Once she looked at Siegfried with 
an eager flush staining her pale cheeks. But she was 
plunged into sadness again. He did not meet her gaze, 
and the look he wore suggested that his thoughts were 
far away from the feast of victory. Indeed the stern 
Northman was thinking at that very moment: “And 
how can they all grow sick with love at the sight of 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


287 


this pleasant child Gudrun. In truth she is sweet to 
gaze upon but she is like a flower that droops at the 
slightest hint of harshness. I wonder at the look of 
fright in her eyes—and I remember the fearless light 
in another woman’s face.” 

There came vassals bearing a display of treasure that 
had been brought from the land of the Saxons. Naked 
slaves staggered past the king with ingots of silver on 
their bare shoulders and bronze plates held aloft on 
their brown fingertips. There were urns of gold dust 
and vessels of subtle perfumes—so that a scent of sea- 
foam and flowers filled the air. Men passed, wearing 
the hides of wild beasts that had come from the land 
of the Danes, and slave girls stood pouring rare jewels 
from silver vases, like continuous ribbons of light— 
turquoises, carbuncles, moonstones, beryls, rubies, 
emeralds, sapphires. Lastly a small cart was drawn 
through the hall laden with chests of gold and silver 
coins, some blackened by fire, for in spite of the fall 
of their king many Saxon villages had not submitted 
until they were sieged by fire and stone. 

Grimhild—unlike Gudrun—did not shrink from 
the sight of these spoils of war and the uncouth man¬ 
ners of the men of the armies. Her eyes glittered like 
dark jewels and she leaned forward as eagerly as her 
sons to see what the vassals carried. 

Soon the king arose and began to speak: “Liudegast 
the Danish chief is now cured of his wounds and would 
fain ride forth, as would also Liudeger the Saxon. 
They have sworn lasting peace with me and the men 


288 


SIEGFRIED 


of the Rhinelands. Advise me, Sir Siegfried, what 
had best be done?” said Giuki. 

“Let them ride forth unhindered,” Siegfried said, 
“but make each of the lordings give surety with his 
hand that his noble knights will henceforth forbear 
all hostile riding hither to your land.” 

“This counsel will I follow,” answered Giuki, and 
the men of Burgundy, secure in their great victory, 
nodded their assent. 

Then the king gave trophies from the spoils to those 
warriors who were most deserving, and to each captain 
of the armies from surrounding kingdoms, enough 
gold to reward each soldier who had fought for Bur¬ 
gundy. And after he had awarded each of his own 
sons a jeweled sword as a token for his bravery, none 
remained empty-handed save the greatest of them ail, 
who was Siegfried. 

“And what for Siegfried?” cried Gunther. Others 
took up his query and the hall resounded with the 
Northman’s name. 

“I cannot offer treasure to the Horned Siegfried 
when he is already owner of the greatest hoard on 
earth—the Nibelung treasure,” said King Giuki. “I 
cannot give a sword to one who owns a sword of the 
gods, nor a coat-of-mail to one who wears a golden 
hauberk. There is naught for me to assign noble Sieg¬ 
fried but the drink of honor that is given by this house¬ 
hold to the worthiest among men. Let the wine be 
poured into a golden bowl of transparent glass reflect¬ 
ing the faces of our guests who are gathered here. Let 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


289 


the hands of Queen Grimhild prepare the drink and 
the hands of fair Gudrun the princess carry it to Lord 
Siegfried.” 

The men of Burgundy were pleased. It was right 
that Siegfried should receive a greater gift than theirs. 
A drink of honor seemed a splendid thing, symbolic of 
the love and gratitude the Burgundians bore the North¬ 
man. They watched the proud figure of Grimhild 
sweep down the length of the hall as she went to the 
wine-tables to mix the drink for Siegfried. They turned 
to look curiously at fair Gudrun who was to hand the 
bowl to the hero with her own small hands. She was as 
white as death and her eyes were frightened. All save 
Hagen thought that the princess feared the strong 
young hero. They smiled tenderly at her frailty. 

At last they saw Grimhild turn from the wine-table. 
She advanced toward Gudrun with slow majestic steps 
and they could all see the shimmering golden glass 
bowl and its contents gloriously gilded by the reflection. 
Grimhild walked like a woman in a dream. Her eyes 
watched the gentle movement of the magic liquid. It 
seemed to be the only thing in the world that existed 
for her. When she came to Gudrun, she placed the 
bowl gently into the hands of the little princess, saying: 
“Go, my child and take the drink of honor to Horned 
Siegfried.” 

The vast assembly of men had stopped their merri¬ 
ment. Silence hung over the hall as Gudrun walked 
with reluctant steps to meet Siegfried. She looked 
deep into the bowl as if she could not meet his eyes. 


290 


SIEGFRIED 


Her voice was low and tremulous as she handed him 
the drink of honor. 

“Great joy we have in your abiding here, O Horned 
Siegfried, and all good things will we put before you 
to take of us. Thus now, will vou take this bowl and 
drink thereof?” 

And the thoughts of the hero were far-wandering— 
he scarcely heard the words of Gudrun. He dreamed 
of the helm-maidens whirring in war-play over the 
earth, and he cried in his heart: “I weary in longing 
for that Valkyrie of flame.” He hesitated a moment 
before he took the bowl, as if he did not realize what 
Gudrun offered him, but suddenly he was himself 
again and he saw the hurt in her eyes as she questioned 
his refusal. He lifted the shining vessel to his lips 
and drank. 

While the heroes cheered, Gudrun stood before 
him with her face lifted prayerfully to his, as if she 
worshipped in the presence of a god. And by a curious 
trick of light, Siegfried beheld her through the pale 
and luminous gold of the tilted bowl and found her 
suddenly more lovely than anything he had ever 
dreamed. His lips clung long to the upraised bowl 
that he might gaze upon her before the illusion van¬ 
ished. The drink had a strange sweet taste that was 
like honeyed wine. It stung his throat pleasantly. But 
he was scarcely aware of it—every sense was stirred at 
the sight of Gudrun transformed by the magic of the 
light that shone upon her through the glass. Siegfried 
mused: “If she had really been like this, the spae-maid 



While the heroes cheered, Gudrun stood before him with her 
face lifted prayerfully to his as if she worshipped 
in the presence of a god 


mnP sum* 























































* 














* 












































































THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


291 


of the wild fire at Hindfell might have been truthful 
in her prophecy.” 

He put the bowl down regretfully. For a moment 
he bent his head. He did not wish to see the face of 
this glorious woman become once more the innocent 
mask of child-like Gudrun. But he felt her presence 
near him. An odd tingling in his blood forced him to 
open his eyes. He started as if he witnessed some 
fantasy of fate. The Gudrun before him was the lady 
of golden light who had watched him as he drank. 
The same inner radiance smiled from her eyes and her 
beautifully molded lips. He lifted the bowl again, 
draining the last drop and letting his eyes find once 
more the reflected image of the daughter of Giuki. 
She was—indeed, the same. The bowl dropped with 
a crash and a hundred golden fragments lay on the 
stone floor. 

‘‘Gudrun!” men heard him cry in amazement. 

“Siegfried,” her voice answered. 

Before anyone could speak, came the mocking voice 
of Grimhild with words of false sweetness: “Your 
father, O Siegfried of the north, shall be Giuki, the 
king and I shall be your mother. Gunther and Hagen 
and Guttorm shall be your brethren and all this shall 
be sworn with oaths, each to each. And surely shall 
the like of you two never be found on earth—fair 
Gudrun of the rose garden and Horned Siegfried of 
the Vikings.” 

Siegfried listened to these words and cried, “It shall 
be so—Guiki, good king of Burgundy. Many times 


292 


SIEGFRIED 


you have asked me what reward I desire. It is Gudrun 
I wish.” 

Thus Siegfried asked for Gudrun when he was 
already pledged to another, for with the drinking of 
that mead of Grimhild’s evil brewing, all memory of 
Brynhild had departed from him. 

The men of Burgundy stood transfixed. They heard 
the voice of Gunther: “All things that may be we will 
do for you; both dominion shall you have and our 
sister—freely and unprayed for, whom another man 
would not receive for all his prayers.” 

Only Gudrun remained troubled. The voice of her 
mother rang in her mind. The shadow of suspicion 
troubled her. She saw the grim expression Hagen 
wore. But she trembled with joy when she saw Sieg¬ 
fried’s eyes grow tender as he met her gaze and she 
reached forth her hands to bless him as he knelt there 
before her. 

All night long the feasting continued and the gaiety 
ran high. While the captains of other kingdoms 
toasted one another, the royal family talked together. 
Soon it was whispered that the bridal would be held 
the day after the armies left the city. Grimhild and 
Gudrun went from the hall followed by their train of 
maidens, and as dawn came nearer the assembly slowly 
broke up. Siegfried and Gunther were left together. 

Now this Siegfried was a new Siegfried to Gunther’s 
eyes. Joy and unrestrained excitement flowed from the 
Northman’s very being. And Gunther who believed 
only what he saw before him, forgot to question how 


THE MEAD OF GRIMHILD 


293 


this change had come to be. And suddenly—rejoicing 
with his blood-brother—the desire came over him to 
possess himself some radiant thing to uplift him. 

“Siegfried—I was wrong, then—I had supposed 
that it was Brynhild, the Valkyrie, that you loved. 
Now that I find it is not so, I would take this maiden 
for myself. Fair blooms your life and fortune—I 
would mine own were the same. I have come to stand 
in awe and reverence of this splendid woman of Hlym- 
dale—think you she would have me?” 

Siegfried frowned for a moment as if the name were 
unfamiliar to his ears. Then he patted Gunther fra¬ 
ternally on the shoulder: “You say she is a friend of 
mine—why then, Gunther, she cannot help loving you 
because we love each other.” 

Scarcely had he spoken when a curious sound came 
to their ears. It was like a giant wind sweeping the 
sky. Gunther and Siegfried rushed to the casements. 
A cold rain began to beat down upon the terraces of the 
castle. The volumes of cascading water hid everything 
from sight, and it seemed as if silver walls were falling 
from the sky to imprison the castle of Giuki. Again 
they heard the curious rushing sound. 

“What can it be?” cried Gunther. 

Siegfried leaned forth and at the same moment the 
rain lessened, disclosing a flock of sky ravens circling 
in the air in black spirals, beating their wings and 
croaking hoarsely. Siegfried laughed and said with a 
note of relief in his voice: 

“Strange, the foreboding I had. What did that 


294 


SIEGFRIED 


rushing noise remind you of, Gunther? I seem to 
remember hearing it before—and yet I cannot place 
it in my mind.” 

“I know not,” said Gunther, “but a Viking once 
described to me the rushing thunder of the war- 
choosers of Valhalla. The sound of their heavenly 
flight must be somewhat like that.” 

Siegfried looked startled for a moment and then he 
shrugged his shoulders as if to dismiss the thing from 
his mind. 

All day long cold rain fell upon the land of Bur¬ 
gundy. From time to time the portals of Giuki’s 
castle opened and men of the king’s guard, like wet 
ghosts of the sea, came to warm themselves in the 
fire-hall. 


Chapter 
XXI 



THE NORNS 
OF YGGDRASIL 


.HERE came a day when the 
men of Giuki’s court stood mounted on the walls of the 
city watching the troops from the Rhinelands depart. 
Long arrays of armed men marched away. The feast 
day was over. And the Burgundians knew that Sieg¬ 
fried and Gudrun would be betrothed before another 
nightfall. 

While North-over-the-sea in Siegfried’s own land, 
others knew that the noblest Viking among them 
would be wedded by the hand of the goddess, Var, to 
Gudrun of the Rose Garden. 

Where the Forest loomed, that same ash of Yggdrasil 
that had harbored the child Siegfried stood unchanged. 
The glades beneath the tree were filled with drifting 
mists of blue gloaming just as they had been when 
Siegfried walked that way. Ratatosk, the impudent 
squirrel, still raced up and down the rugged trunk, 
bearing the messages of the wise hawk to Nidhog, the 
worm who gnawed the roots of the ash. The Well of 
Urd had disappeared. Upon the death of its owner, 
Mimir, the waters had dried away. The grotto where 
the dwarf had lived with Siegfried was so overgrown 
with moss and vines that no one could have found the 
entrance. It might have been supposed that Siegfried 


295 


296 


SIEGFRIED 


was forgotten by the enchanted ones who dwelt here. 

Instead—at the very moment when the people of 
the royal court of the Burgundians walked to the 
bridal benches to see their princess wed to Siegfried of 
the northlands, the three Norns who shaped the des¬ 
tiny and future life of all Northmen sat in their hall 
beneath the trunk of Yggdrasil, saying of Siegfried: 

“We, who have spun the threads of fate at the birth 
of every child, know now what has befallen Siegfried.” 

Urd, the Norn who could tell all things of the past, 
said softly: “Odin, the Wanderer, has watched over 
him until now—hence all that he has thus far endured 
has been beautiful and fine.” 

Verdandi, the present, sighed as she whispered: 
“Odin, the Wanderer, deserts him now and the 
treachery of Grimhild has wrought a miracle of evil.” 

Skuld, the future, shivered and covered her eyes with 
her frail hands as if she could not bear to look upon 
the vision that lay before her. 

The dead leaves floated to the earth from the great 
ash tree and lay like forgotten days with the rest of 
their kind. 

And south of the Forest and the wastelands, where 
the sea drifts touched the coast, Heimir, the foster- 
father of Brynhild, walked in grief. He was a man 
full of lore and ancient things were stored in his mind, 
and so it was he knew what drove Brynhild from 
Hlymdale. He had seen her come storming from her 
chamber late one night when a Viking moon shone 
in the sky and the sea was a silver heath. She had 


THE NORNS OF YGGDRASIL 


297 


stood on the shore and cried the call of the Valkyries 
to the sky. He could hear it still—the warlike chal¬ 
lenge and the ringing exultant song: “Hojotoho! 
Hojotoho! Heiaha! Heiahal Hojotoho!” And there 
had come the rushing of her helm-maidens on their 
war steeds to carry her away from the hurt of mortal 
things. 

High on the peaks of Hindfell, Brynhild the exultant 
awaited the moment of Siegfried’s betrothal. Not yet 
was he lost to her. Would he be roused from the effects 
of Grimhild’s mead before he was wed to Gudrun? 
Brynhild the candid—the brave, grew each moment 
more fiercely resentful. She who had prophesied this 
thing longed now to deny its being. All night long 
she sat on the lonely peaks and another day passed. 
The warlike Valkyrie suffered as the champion suffers 
who can battle no longer. Out of the ranks, compelled 
to sit by the side of the conflict, and await its outcome 
—this now was Brynhild’s fate. 

It was dusk of the second day when in faraway Bur¬ 
gundy, Siegfried, beneath the spell of the mead, vowed 
eternal vows with Gudrun, and as he spoke the hedge 
of flames that had been slaked long since, leaped up 
and encircled Hindfell. 

Once more Brynhild returned to loneliness. Rather 
to live unloved than loved by a mortal weaker than the 
gods. The fiery hedge would protect her from any 
suitor who came that way. 



298 


SIEGFRIED 


Even the wise-wife Grimhild could not tell if Sieg¬ 
fried regretted his deed, and no one in the kingdom 
of the Rhine knew if the image of the Valkyrie Bryn- 
hild was still hidden from the Viking hero. To all 
outward appearance, Lord Siegfried became the de¬ 
voted husband of lovely Gudrun and lived the life of 
a high noble of Burgundy. If there were times when 
Gudrun read a look of sternness in his face, she wisely 
kept her peace. And even when Hagen, whom she had 
long worshipped, questioned her, she smiled quietly 
and answered that there was naught save happiness 
between the Northman and herself. 

Gunther, seeing this happiness, longed more ar¬ 
dently than ever to set forth in a galley, sailing North- 
over-the-sea to Brynhild. Because he had always told 
his foster-brother the secretmost things in his heart, it 
was natural for him to speak of this dream to Siegfried. 

“I will go down to the sea and hence to Brynhild,” 
said Gunther to Siegfried. “For her love I will risk 
my life and gladly lose it if she becomes not my wife. 
The words you have spoken of her beauty and her 
exultant spirit have made me unable to think of any 
other maiden.” 

“I counsel you against this,” Siegfried said quietly. 
“There are two Brynhild’s—one is the fair-hearted 
woman whom I tarried with, another the fierce helm- 
queen. It is said that her respect for mortal is none. 
She battles to kill unless she chances not to fight at all 
as it was with me. Give over the journey, Gunther, 
and find you some gentler maid of the south.” 


THE NORNS OF YGGDRASIL 


299 


“Never was woman born so strong and bold that I 
might not vanquish her with my own hand,” boasted 
Gunther. 

“Be still,” Siegfried said shortly, “You do not know 
her strength.” 

At that moment Hagen the grim-hearted chanced 
upon the foster-brothers and listened to their speech. 

“I would advise you, Gunther,” he said, “to take 
Siegfried with you upon your journey. He has made 
this same pilgrimage before, is it not so, Lord Siegfried 
—he should know well how matters stand with 
Brynhild.” 

Siegfried’s expression did not change at this deliber¬ 
ate taunt of Hagen’s. He did not look at Gunther as 
his foster-brother spoke again: “Will you help me, 
Siegfried? Perhaps I have counted my strength too 
high in daring to match it with a helm-maiden’s.” 

Siegfried could not deny Gunther’s request. Be¬ 
sides—he knew that the one chance for Gunther’s safe 
return lay in his own presence at Brynhild’s portal. 

“I will go with you, Gunther. Once more let me 
urge you against this deed. Brynhild, the Valkyrie is 
born of the clouds and the rushing winds. She loves 
the gods and not men of mortal birth. Because she has 
disobeyed great Odin she is kept away from Valhalla 
and away from the company of her sisters. It is better 
for her to live in loneliness, dreaming of her days of 
battle, than to walk as an earthly queen.” 

“Nay, Siegfried—it is too late to dissuade me. 
More than life itself, I desire Brynhild.” 


3oo 


SIEGFRIED 


Siegfried saw his brother had spoken truthfully from 
a heart of love. 

“Make ready, then, Gunther. All that you need to 
do is prepare a seaworthy galley and to choose a body¬ 
guard of twelve noble knights. The success of this 
journey will lie with myself. The tarn-cap I won from 
Alberich the dwarf will render me invisible. So fierce 
and proud a queen must be subdued by the invisible. 
You who are in full sight of her will stand small chance 
of victory.” 

“Lord Siegfried speaks sensibly,” Hagen remarked, 
and again Siegfried sensed the mockery in his voice. 

“And will you—perchance—come with us?” Sieg¬ 
fried demanded. 

“Nay—your absence will give me a moment with my 
sister,” Hagen retorted. 

“Gudrun must be told of this,” said Gunther, “she 
will rejoice that another queen comes to Burgundy.” 

But when Gudrun heard of the journey her lord 
Siegfried was to make with her elder brother, she was 
sad and downcast. Her soft eyes were filled with 
tears and she lost her womanliness and became the 
childlike Gudrun again. “O Gunther, dear brother, 
you might tarry here a while and pay court to other 
maidens in a way that does not risk your life. You 
can find a wife of high birth nearer home.” 

Then Gunther was gay-hearted. “Naught can 
happen to me with Lord Siegfried to aid me,” he 
laughed, and he did not understand the look of fright 
that came into Gudrun’s eyes. 


THE NORNS OF YGGDRASIL 


3 01 


The brave galley set sail with Gunther himself at 
the helm. There were chapmen on the ship as well as 
the twelve knights, and these common shipmen made 
merry. They gathered about the cask of ale that stood 
beside the mast, and if the chest was locked, they 
found as much pleasure over their porridge. The ship 
rode well, its stout sheet-rope tightened by the breeze. 
They sailed North-over-the-sea for many days in fair 
weather. Siegfried stood upon the deck, his feet wide 
apart and his arms folded, watching the swirling 
waters. A tremendous longing surged over him to 
see his own people again. For a year he had been 
one of the Burgundians—and now a host of memories 
swept over him. There were the Volsungs to remem¬ 
ber, his sturdy ancestors whom he must never betray 
by any weakness. There was Hjordis the lovely who 
had first taught him what tenderness was, and kindly 
Hjalprek who had given him ships and armies of brave 
men to go forth and conquer. The salty smell of the 
sea and the crisp tang in the air recalled a hundred 
memories. He seemed to see in his mind’s eye the 
whole of the northlands spread out before him. He 
walked again in an endless forest and he rode his horse 
on a spray-soaked shore. He obeyed Mimir and was 
led by the Wanderer. He listened to the foretellings 
of Gripir and he fought a dragon to a death-duel. The 
North—against the South! The Vikings stood forth 
as rugged, dangerous, blood-shedding, ruthless cham¬ 
pions beside the princely figures of Burgundy. Sieg¬ 
fried thought of everything that had ever happened to 


3 02 


SIEGFRIED 


him—save one thing. Since the dawn when he had 
awakened to the evil Grimhild had done him, he had 
never let the vision of Brynhild cross his mind. 

At last the ship sighted the towers of Hlymdale. 
The proud vessel seemed to plunge forward, and as it 
neared the shore its great oars cut the water so that a 
white foam covered the surface of the harbor. Sieg¬ 
fried stood at the prow, his golden hair blowing in the 
breeze. 

When the house-carles of Heimir came to him to 
report the presence of a bare-headed captain of mighty 
build, the good king hurried to the shore. His hope 
that this stranger might be Horned Siegfried was 
realized. But he was destined to another disappoint¬ 
ment. It was Gunther who stood forth to speak with 
him: 

“Good king, we seek your foster-daughter, noble 
Brynhild. I have come far to woo her.” 

“Ah—Brynhild must wed, it is true,” said the old 
man, “but him whom she weds she must choose her¬ 
self, freely. That this may be so, she has returned to 
her mountain castle at Hindfell. The flaming barrier 
that she has raised to protect herself is a formidable 
hedge. And whoever shall ride through the fire, 
meets a new Brynhild in the green garden. She has 
grown bitter and fierce-hearted. She has never smiled 
since a certain mead was drunk at the court of Giuki.” 

“What is the old man saying?” Gunther laughed and 
whispered to Siegfried. 

But the Viking was occupied in saluting the good 


THE NORNS OF YGGDRASIL 


303 


king Heimir and in ordering the vessel turned seaward 
again. Soon the painted galley was scudding along 
the shore—still farther to the north. And every man 
upon it—from Horned Siegfried down to the smallest 
shipman, dreamed of the burning hedge and the beau¬ 
tiful woman who waited behind it. 


Chapter 
jm 



THE WOOING 
OF BR.YNHILD 


HEN the ship turned away 
from Hlymdale, the sea was as smooth as glass. The 
galley sailed silently. An illusion of immobility lay over 
all things. The ship seemed becalmed at the base of 
the soaring cliffs of the fjords. This way it was for 
two days until they sighted the shores where the moun¬ 
tain Hindfell stood. Here they were kept at bay by a 
lashing of waters that hid the treacherous shoals. The 
storm broke wildly. The galley was like a driven 
creature. Her chapmen listened helplessly to the 
flapping of loose sails and the tearing sound of old 
wood. The air was filled with a murmuring rushing 
and shrilling. Headway the surf roared and the sea 
washed the fjords and the fjords were like giant break¬ 
ers tossed against the sky. 

All day the ship struggled over the whale-path. Far 
beyond the stretch of foam and the length of plain 
rose the abrupt slope of Hindfell and the golden roof- 
ridge of the castle of Brynhild, the Valkyrie. At last 
the red sun began to sink lower and lower in the sky 
until its rays mingled with the fiery hedge that sur¬ 
rounded Hindfell. With the coming of evening, the 
wind died and the waters quieted. The galley slaves 
were ordered to anchor until morning when Prince 


304 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 305 

Gunther would prepare to leave the ship and ride forth 
with his company. 

Siegfried stood in the pale light, looking over the 
dreary sea. The world wore a death-cold look. Shore¬ 
ward, the earth seemed barren of green things and a 
great loneliness lingered everywhere in sight. Sieg¬ 
fried marveled, remembering that other time when 
he had come to Hindfell and found the garden as 
bright as an emerald and seen the luxury and fertility 
of Brynhild’s mountain. The only familiar thing left 
was the brilliant hedge of clear fire. Soon Gunther 
joined Siegfried. 

“Ah—it is you, Gunther. Hear the screaming of 
the gulls?” 

“A sad sound,” said Gunther, sighing. The young 
Burgundian was a sensitive fellow and the melancholy 
surroundings depressed him. 

“Sad—what is this?” laughed Siegfried. “Wait 
until the lady has said you nay! Do not fear, brother. 
I will win her—by the gods who deny, she shall be 
given.” 

Gunther wondered for a moment what the North¬ 
man could mean. 

“And now—to sleep—dream once again of the exul¬ 
tant Brynhild, Gunther. Dream of her beauty, her 
strength, her dauntless will. Another night may find 
you holding the fragments of that dream, for beauty 
may be terrible as well as gentle, strength is a warlike 
virtue—and the will of a woman may put your will to 
shame.” 


306 


SIEGFRIED 


Gunther turned wearily away. Siegfried’s prophe¬ 
cies bewildered him. Why should he speak thus of a 
glorious Valkyrie? 


Long before the ship was sighted from Brynhild’s 
tower, the Valkyrie had known of its coming. Soon 
after the galley had left the Rhine and started North- 
over-the-sea, Heimdall, the watchman of the gods, had 
discovered it. All day long Heimdall rode his golden¬ 
maned horse back and forth on Bifrost Bridge which 
followed the curve of the rainbow. Thus he could see 
the earth and the heavens and he guarded the gods on 
the mountains of the sky from the mortals below. 
Heimdall had been chosen warden of the gods because 
he could do with less sleep than a bird and could see 
equally well by night and by day for a full hundred 
leagues distance. He could hear the grass growing— 
and the growing of a sheep’s wool. The sound of 
his horn of warning could be heard through all worlds. 

It so happened that the day Brynhild heard of the 
ship’s coming, she was more bitter with grief than 
ever before. When she lost Siegfried, she had gathered 
her courage and called for her Valkyrie sisters. To¬ 
gether they had formed a plan to take her back to 
Valhalla. Nine Valkyries had mounted their charg¬ 
ers and surrounded Brynhild who rode a small gray 
horse. Rushing like a cloud-fury, they had galloped 
of? toward the hall of the slain. But as they ap¬ 
proached, Syn who guards the door of Valhalla met 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 307 

them. When Brynhild reached the portal, it swung 
shut. From door to door she galloped. At each one, 
Syn stood ready to bar her entrance. The mad chase 
went on for hours. Brynhild battled to enter her 
beloved home. But the will of Odin, the Warfather 
was stronger than hers, and she was forced to ride 
sorrowfully back to Hindfell. Thus, when she heard 
than an earthly prince was on his way to woo her, her 
fury was boundless. She laughed in a wild way and 
the young Valkyrie maidens who played in her garden, 
shivered as they saw her striding back and forth. A 
transfigured Brynhild—with little trace of her former 
self! Instead of the calm woman with ageless eyes who 
read wisely ageless things, an impulsive, strong-willed 
warrior awaited the coming of Gunther. And so, for 
the number of days it took the ship to sail from the 
entrance to the sea to the fjords of the Northlands, 
Brynhild hated him who dared to woo her. She feared 
nothing. The hedge of fire would protect her—if by 
some untoward miracle the hero crossed this barrier, 
the Valkyrie had other plans to kill him or send him 
away broken and humiliated. 

A A A A 

In the light of the morning sun, the galley slaves 
of the ship from Burgundy waded through the shallow 
waters bearing the landing bridge upon their bare 
shoulders. They stood in two columns, implanted 
in the sea like pillars in a hall-floor. Their glistening 
shoulders were taut with the strain of the weight they 


3°8 


SIEGFRIED 


bore and the muscles of their arms rippled beneath their 
brown skin. Over the bridge walked Prince Gunther 
and Lord Siegfried and the array of twelve men. Then 
came the chapmen leading the excited horses, wild at 
the sight of land again. Once on the shore the pranc¬ 
ing steeds reared and plunged until the knights could 
quiet them. 

The body of mounted men moved slowly over the 
plain. Gunther and Siegfried were clad in costly gar¬ 
ments of royal blue, and the twelve men wore raven 
black with golden bucklers and brilliant jewels. Their 
saddles were set with precious stones and gay bells 
tinkled on their narrow martingales. Well-wrought 
swords and shining spears covered with sheets of silver 
engraved in serpent ornamentations, with sockets inlaid 
with gold, hung down at their sides. As they neared 
the sheer rocky slopes of Hindfell, they drew in their 
horses. At the very top of the peaks—like the crest 
of the mountain itself—rose a fair castle. Six and 
eighty turrets it had, and a single great tower above the 
rest. The fortress was built of costly marble—colored 
a curious bluish green. At the bottom of the fell, a 
hedge of flames burned—not the same narrow wall of 
fire that Siegfried had once crossed, but a stretch of 
blazing turf some thirty feet across. It burned with 
fitful energy—leaping suddenly upward as it answered 
the rushing of the wind-bellows—now dying down to 
a glowing mass that looked like a garden of scarlet 
brachen. 

“When you reach the other side of the flames, wait 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 


3°9 


for my command before you go farther,” Siegfried 
said. 

The twelve knights looked uneasily at the barrier 
before them. Siegfried started toward it—a slow trot 
that increased to a faster and faster pace. Gunther 
followed eagerly. The line of horsemen leaped ahead. 
For a moment the thundering of hoofs on the turf was 
deafening. The steeds mingled together like the wing 
of an attacking cavalry-charge. As they neared the 
hedge of fire, certain horsemen instinctively drew in 
their reins. A few steeds reached the very boundary 
of the blaze and shied with a tremendous wrenching 
of their bodies. 

Greyfell alone cleared the burning brake. Gunther 
sat upon his rearing horse Goti and watched the mar¬ 
velous sight before him. He saw the gray body of 
Siegfried’s horse stretch out in the air like a winged 
carrier of the gods. He saw Siegfried stand in his 
stirrups and fling his arms outward as if embracing 
what lay before. And as Greyfell and Siegfried passed 
over the flames, the fire was slaked. When they 
reached the other side of the barrier, there was no hedge 
of flames behind them. 

Even as the knights led by Gunther hurried forward, 
there was a loud rushing sound above them. They 
looked skyward and saw a host of Valkyries riding to 
guard Brynhild. And high on the crags of Hindfell, 
sounded an exultant calling as the helm-maidens pre¬ 
pared for the onslaught of the Burgundians. 

“Let us hasten,” cried Gunther. 


3 10 


SIEGFRIED 


“Nay—you shall wait for my command or not climb 
a foot of this fell,” said Siegfried. 

Gunther shrank back before the cold sternness in 
the voice of his foster-brother. 

“What do you mean?” he said in bewilderment. 

Siegfried’s frown vanished. He put his hand lov¬ 
ingly upon Gunther’s shoulder. 

“Forgive my quick words. I was only thinking of 
what confronts us. There must be a plan to match 
the plan of the wild Valkyries crying on the mountain 
top. If you had gone your way unheeded—your only 
escape would have been cut off.” 

“Escape from what—why are you so serious, Sieg¬ 
fried? You who have never been afraid of anything, 
speak now like an old woman. You who fought 
Danes and Saxons and my father’s giant guard take 
elaborate precautions against a bevy of ladies just be¬ 
cause they are not exactly mortals,” cried Gunther 
petulantly. 

He looked about him as if to enlist the agreement of 
his followers, but he saw that the twelve knights 
looked to Siegfried. Perhaps the high mournful song 
that swept down the fell convinced them that no ordi¬ 
nary maids awaited them. 

“Listen, Gunther. Brynhild’s strength when she is 
aroused is greater than yours. You must—as Hagen 
suggested—let your brother help you win her. I will 
give everything in my power for your sake—my 
strength, my cunning, and the magic of the tarn-cap 
that I won from Alberich. Listen carefully. You 


(THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 311 

shall do all that Brynhild tells you—she will challenge 
you to games, for that is the way of her kind. Follow 
the gestures of the contest. I will don the tarn-cap. 
It renders me invisible. What a gift! There will be 
naught but a faint bluishness in the air to mark the 
place where I stand, wearing the fog-helm.” 

The knights looked frightened. The ways of magic 
were strange ways and not to the liking of men who 
walked in proper paths. Even Gunther looked 
troubled when he saw Siegfried bring forth a strangely 
woven cap and lift it to his head. At once the horse 
Greyfell was riderless! 

“Siegfried,” Gunther whispered wonderingly. 

“Hush,” came a faint voice “trust me, brother. And 
now—on and upward, all of you. Siegfried shall be 
forgotten as long as we are upon Hindfell and whatso¬ 
ever Gunther says shall be your law. 

The twelve knights, who had been chosen for their 
beauty and their noble bearing, and not for their wit 
or imagination, failed to understand any of this that 
came to pass. Siegfried had vanished—and they dis¬ 
missed him. Even though they had been told that he 
walked at Gunther’s side, they could not believe it. 
For a moment they were troubled as they looked back 
at the horses—fourteen powerful steeds stood at the 
foot of the mountain—and only thirteen heroes strug¬ 
gled up the steep heights of the fell. Horned Sieg¬ 
fried was not among the Burgundians! 


312 


SIEGFRIED 


Brynhild heard the loud knocking at her gates. 

“What shall we do?” Hrist and Mist—their long 
dark hair flying behind them, came running to ask her 
bidding. 

“What else—but open, little sisters?” Brynhild 
smiled queerly. 

Then—after their retreating footsteps, she heard the 
iron portals swing aside and a clear horn blowing. 
She rose from the great dais. It was not fitting to 
meet her enemies as a woman—reclining. 

“It is Prince Gunther of Burgundy who seeks per¬ 
mission to enter your presence,” cried Hrist, as she 
returned to Brynhild’s side. 

“He comes alone?” the voice of the Valkyrie 
struggled to be calm. 

“Nay—twelve knights attend him—paltry knights 
with no look of strength about them. Pretty men— 
that is all,” said Hrist scornfully. 

“Bid them enter—and call the Valkyries,” said 
Brynhild. 

Then she took her stand—feet wide apart in the 
warrior’s way and a look of tremendous pride and will 
in her dark grey eyes. Gunther gasped when he saw 
her. Her short tunic was made of silver links—her 
long graceful legs were bound tightly with leather 
skins. Her head was held high and her beautiful 
shoulders were as well-set as a soldier’s. There was 
only her long coppery hair to mark her as a woman. 
Her delicately cut profile might have been man or 
woman—and her wild eyes belonged to a race beyond 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 313 

mortals. Gathered about her were slender girls with 
straight dark hair sweeping back from curiously child¬ 
like brows. Only their eyes were wild—as Brynhild’s 
were wild, with a look beyond the conception of men. 

“What does your journey mean, Lord Gunther? 
Perhaps you have not heard that strangers are not wel¬ 
come at Hindfell.” 

Gunther, bewildered at the vision of Brynhild, could 
scarcely answer her. 

“Gramercy, Lady Brynhild—that you have deigned 
to let me enter your portal. I have come to woo you 
—journeying from far Burgundy, hoping to bear you 
with me on my return passage.” 

“What madness, young man,” Brynhild was scorn¬ 
ful. “The customs of the north are not those uncivi¬ 
lized ones of Burgundy where man does not marry 
maid but field marries field, vineyard marries vineyard, 
cattle marry cattle. Know you not that Brynhild is not 
for the wooing of any mortal?” 

“Nor any god,” said a voice that seemed to come 
from Gunther’s lips and yet sounded far more mocking 
and deep-toned than the young Burgundian’s voice. 

Brynhild paled. The whole world knew, then, of 
her dismissal from Valhalla. She raged inwardly and 
her voice trembled as she tried to speak with her old 
arrogance. 

“Any man who hopes to possess me must play cer¬ 
tain games. Should he win I will become his wife. 
Should I conquer, he shall be killed with his body¬ 
guard. Long ago the hedge of fire was the test I 


3*4 


SIEGFRIED 


offered for my heart—it was not difficult enough. 
Now—the fool who dares to storm my battlements 
must hurl the stone with me, and afterwards spring 
and cast the spear.” 

“Let us play your games,” again the voice came-^ • 
seemingly from Gunther’s lips, but the young Bur¬ 
gundian knew it was the invisible Siegfried who spoke. 

“You are likely to lose your honor and your life as 
well. It were wise to think upon this matter,” said 
the Valkyrie sternly. 

“Ah—but I am willing to die if you will not become 
my wife,” sighed Gunther. In spite of his wonder at 
the sight of the warlike Valkyrie he was stirred by her 
strength and beauty. 

“To the games, then,” she said abruptly. Then 
turning once more to face the knights and the children 
of the Hall of the Slain, she cried defiantly: “Should 
Prince Gunther lose, you have heard my verdict. 
Should he win—this shining ring I wear must be taken 
from my finger. As long as there is a measure of 
strength in me I shall defend it. With its going— 
there goes likewise my honor, my faith.” 

Gunther looked at the shining golden ring. He 
knew that it must be the famous ring of Andvari that 
Siegfried had once given with his pledge. Gunther 
wondered a moment concerning the Northman’s 
youthful deed. Now—certainly, the Valkyrie was 
forgotten. The Viking thought only of fair young 
Gudrun. Gunther mused thoughtfully as he gazed 
at the ring. None might take it from her save her 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 


3ES 

victor. It was a ring with a strange curse upon it. 
Gunther wished that the ring had never been men¬ 
tioned. 

Then the Valkyrie left her hall to prepare for the 
games. 

“Hrist,” she commanded, “bring me a breastplate 
of ruddy gold and a shield of glory. I will wear a 
silken surcoat over my armor—ah, none save a woman 
would know that silk is harder to cut with a sword than 
the sternest of meshes.” 

So Hrist brought her a short green coat made of the 
silken cloth of Libya with a brilliantly embroidered 
edging which was like a studding of jewels. When 
Brynhild marched forth to the ring where the games 
were to be played, she was radiant with stern array. 
Beneath the silken coat was a tight bodyguard made 
of links of gold. Her shield—which Hrist and Mist 
carried for her—was made of strips of gold as hard as 
steel and three spans thick beneath the studs. Her 
shield-thong was a costly band upon which lay jewels 
as green as emerald garden moss. 

When Gunther saw the massive shield, a momentary 
fear for his honor came over him. He heard the low 
murmur of one of the knights who said: “How now 
—Prince Gunther will lose his life. All of us will die. 
She whom he would make his wife is a giant’s bride, 
in truth.” 

“I should like to see the spear she will use,” whis¬ 
pered another. 

And answering this desire, came forth two dark- 


3i6 


SIEGFRIED 


haired helm-maidens bearing a spear of amazing size. 
Three and one-half weights of iron had been wrought 
to create it. It seemed on first appearance to be broad 
and unwieldy, but undoubtedly it was stout and of 
tremendous sharpness. Again Gunther’s heart sank. 
It was not death he minded—but all the Northlands 
would laugh at the men of Burgundy. What did it 
mean? Women were not like this. The Brynhild 
that Siegfried had talked of in their intimate moments 
together was not this fierce and wild-eyed warrior 
maid. Gunther heard the mutterings of his own 
knights: “We who have ever borne the name of 
knights must lose our lives without defending them. 
We shall perish at the hands of a woman in a land 
that is not our own. Would it were Lord Siegfried 
who fought against this spae-maid.” Again Gunther 
mourned. He had little right to imperil the lives of 
these innocent men who formed his guard. As he 
turned to order them back to the ships, he felt some¬ 
thing brush his ear and a warm wave like the breath 
of a man fanned his cheek. He heard a voice say 
softly: “Courage, Gunther—and fear not. Do as I 
have said—follow the movements of the game and I 
will do the rest.” Gunther felt reassurance come 
slowly back—the magic tarncap and Siegfried would 
save him. 

At that moment three magnificent Valkyries came 
toward the ring, rolling a great heavy stone. They 
laughed merrily as they saw the stupified expressions 
on the faces of Gunther’s knights. Then—at the 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 


3 l 7 

approach of Brynhild—they covered their mouths with 
their slim brown hands and ran off giggling. 

But Brynhild did not smile. Brynhild did not even 
deign to acknowledge the presence of the stupid 
knights. Slowly she rolled back the sleeves of her 
silken jacket. There was a tenseness about her body 
as she surveyed the stone. Tossing her coppery hair 
back, she leaned forward with a swift graceful move¬ 
ment. The stone resisted her strength for a moment 
—and then as the muscles in her smooth bare arms 
tightened, came up easily from the earth. As slowly 
as a discus thrower balancing his weights, she lifted 
the stone—upward and backward until she stood in 
the position of the thrower—head back—one foot bear¬ 
ing her weight, the other placed forward, ready to 
receive it as she threw the rock. The stone flew 
through the air like some cumbersome meteor from the 
sky that had burned itself out to a cold white ball of 
ash. Twelve fathoms it soared before it fell with a 
thud near the banks of the clear garden pool. 

A wild cry of throaty laughter came from the Val¬ 
kyries. The men of Burgundy stood, dumb with 
wonderment. “Whom has Prince Gunther chosen for 
a love?” they thought. 

Again came the three Valkyries, rolling another 
stone—perhaps greater than the one that Brynhild had 
lifted so easily. All eyes were upon Gunther. His 
sensitive face was flushed and his eyes downcast. He 
dared not look at the exultant Valkyrie who challenged 
him—he heard her low taunting laughter. Bending 


3 l8 


SIEGFRIED 


quickly to the ground that she might not see his despair, 
Gunther placed his hands upon the stone. It seemed 
a part of the very mountain itself. He felt not the 
slightest give though he used all his strength to lift it. 
Then suddenly—the stone seemed to come to meet 
him. Upward and backward—as he had seen Bryn- 
hild do—he guided the rock while the invisible Sieg¬ 
fried bore its weight. A strange exhilaration flowed 
through Gunther’s veins. For a moment he felt all- 
powerful—he would vanquish the Valkyrie. Even 
as he thought these things, he felt the stone taken from 
his grasp. He watched its flight—with as much 
wonder as the onlookers—saw it pass over Brynhild’s 
rock and fall unerringly into the silvery pool. There 
was a splash of brilliant water flashing in the sun. 
There were the shouts of the Burgundians. There was 
Brynhild with stern lips and unsmiling eyes. Gunther 
trembled at what he had done. 

And the judges, who were men of Odin, called Gun¬ 
ther, of Burgundy, the victor in the first game. And 
so it was that tremendous excitement awaited the 
second contest. 

Gracefully Brynhild climbed a peak of Hindfell 
overlooking the expanse of mossy garden. She stood 
—a black figure outlined against the golden sky. The 
sun was behind her and her shadow fell over the ring, 
a strange angular towering shape. She crouched and 
leaped. As she sprang through the air—with arms 
outflung, she was like some grotesque bird as she 
achieved her splendid flight to the green below. 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 


3i9 


Clarions sounded their song of praise and the cries of 
the Valkyries were raised in an unearthly chorus. 

And now Gunther, his fear vanished, climbed the 
peak nimbly. He stood waiting a moment—to be 
certain that Siegfried was near. “Ready,” he heard 
the voice of his foster-brother say. And Gunther’s 
spring into the air was like that of a stone shot from 
a sling. He landed gracefully an arm’s breadth beyond 
the spot where the furious Brynhild was standing. 
Gunther was as amazed as any one who had witnessed 
the splendid leap, for he knew that it was Siegfried 
who had jumped bearing the weight of a man in his 
arms. No one knew of the phantom jumper save 
Gunther—and it was Gunther’s name that was raised 
in song. 

Then Brynhild who had been cold and scornful, lost 
her proud bearing and turned scarlet with wrath. 

“Bring me my spear and the shield of gold,” she 
cried. “And this shall be the test, Prince Gunther. 
We will throw our spears at the same moment. I 
must pierce your shield and at the same time avoid 
your weapon. You must pierce mine and dodge my 
spear.” 

“And—should I shatter that shield of gold,” said 
Gunther quietly, “then will I have won three games 
from you, fair Brynhild—then will you be mine.” 

“Nay—,” Brynhild’s eyes glowed with a fierce light, 
“the ring of Andvari is tight upon my finger—placed 
there in a pledging dear to my memory. The victor 
must remove that ring—only one stronger-willed, as 


3 20 


SIEGFRIED 


well as stronger-bodied, can take it from me. Unless 
the ring is gone from my finger, Prince Gunther, I will 
not be yours to take away from Hindfell.” 

Gunther set his lips tightly. He was afraid of the 
ring and what it stood for. There was not a man in 
the world who did not know of its curse—how death 
followed in its wake though it were long in coming, 
how disappointment marked the lives of all who had 
ever worn it. 

“It shall be as you will,” he said. 

Brynhild grasped the shield and poised the long 
spear on high. Her hate was so strong at the moment, 
if Siegfried had not been near to guard Gunther, the 
young Burgundian would certainly have fallen before 
her mad thrust. Just as she lunged forward with the 
spear, Gunther felt his shield taken from his hand, 
and Siegfried’s voice said, “Step quickly sidewise, Gun¬ 
ther.” Two spears were thrown simultaneously. 
Brynhild’s sailed past her enemy and struck deeply in 
the trunk of a great mountain oak. The spear that 
Siegfried threw struck the shield of the Valkyrie with 
such force it split asunder and Brynhild fell to the 
ground. Men who watched said that sparks flew 
from her armor rings. They saw that the spear had 
been thrown with the point away from Brynhild so 
that the beautiful woman would not be pierced. But 
even the butt of the spear came with such force it 
stunned her. When Brynhild fell—a fearful cry arose 
among the Valkyries. Some of them rushed for their 
steeds and rode away because they could not bear to see 


THE WOOING OF BRYNHILD 


3 21 


her defeat. Others sang the wild war-cry that slain 
soldiers welcomed as they lay dying. 

Gunther reached Brynhild’s side before she opened 
her eyes. He touched her—tenderly—fearfully. But 
as he tried to take the ring from her finger, she turned 
upon him like a fierce young forest creature. Gunther 
defended himself from the fury of her attack. He 
was as amazed as she when he heard her cry—the soft 
yielding cry of a woman—“Ah—you have won—you 
have truly won—the ring would never have left me 
for one who was not stronger than myself.” 

Gunther looked in astonishment at her slender 
strong hand. The red mark against the brown of her 
finger showed where the ring of Andvari had been. 
Siegfried had taken the ring and hidden it! 


Chapter 

xxm 



THE RETURN OF 
GUNTHER 


NE day the king’s guard at 
the court of Burgundy saw from their outlook on the 
battlements of the castle, a ship coming down the 
Rhine, its sparkling rows of oars like the skimming 
wings of a bird. They gave the word to the guards 
of the castle and soon it was known throughout Giuki’s 
household that Prince Gunther had come home. By 
the time the gorgeous ship had ploughed its way 
through the countless boats that flocked to meet her, 
nearly all the city had gathered at the shore to see the 
bride of Gunther. People pushed and jostled to reach 
the very edge of the bank—not a few tumbled into the 
cold water and had to be fished out by jeering rescuers. 
At last the galley was anchored and the bridge of slaves 
had formed their double column in the water, support¬ 
ing the carpeted plank that reached from the boat to 
the shore. 

Though none knew it, the first to cross the bridge 
was Siegfried, wearing the tarn-cap that hid him se¬ 
curely from all eyes. He made his way through the 
crowd and hastened as far from the shore as possible. 
It was necessary for him to reach the castle before Bryn- 
hild arrived. She must never know that he had been 
with Gunther at Hindfell. 


322 


THE RETURN OF GUNTHER 


323 


Then came the twelve knights—proud now, upon 
their return, that they had travelled so far. It was 
for them to tell of mountains of ice and tempestuous 
seas, of a heath of fire and a fell that reached to high 
heaven. It was for them to speak of Gunther’s wooing 
and winning, and of the bridals that had been held at 
Hlymdale on the way home. The minstrels heard 
their words and soon sang them. The stories grew. 
Soon the stone that was thrown became as big as a 
boulder, and the leap that was made by the Valkyrie 
became the flight of a bird. And certain men said 
that it was a pity Siegfried had had no part in this 
glory. No song had been sung since the Northman’s 
coming to Burgundy that did not include him. 

At last Prince Gunther came, curiously grave and 
seemingly older than when he had left them. When 
he reached the shore, he turned and faced the ship— 
waiting as humbly and as eagerly for Brynhild’s appear¬ 
ance as the crowds of people upon the banks of the 
river. 

She came at last—the most glorious of the Valkyries 
—Brynhild the exultant and the strong-willed. The 
men of Burgundy had never seen her, for it was only 
the battlefields of the Northlands that she visited. But 
their minstrels had traded songs with the scalds beyond 
the sea, and there was not one among them who had 
not heard of the high-helmeted maids who went rush¬ 
ing through the heavens singing their song of the 
slain. She did not disappoint them. Standing upon 
the deck with the wind blowing her coppery hair, she 


3 2 4 


SIEGFRIED 


looked at them with proud and arrogant eyes of gray. 
There was strength in her bearing. There was cruelty 
in her mien. Tragedy had left its mark upon her lips 
and her candid brow. Suffering and wounded pride 
held her stiffly—so that she seemed made of stone. 
She wore a shining haulberk made of silver links. 
Pride made her cling to a war-guise though now it had 
to be the poor armor of common men. Brynhild was 
no longer fortified by the gods and she could not go to 
battle with bare legs and arms and a simple tunic. 

To battle she had come. Even the slow-witted 
crowd could see that this was no friendly queen who 
came to Burgundy. She walked with slow deliberate 
steps, looking straight ahead of her. When she came 
to Prince Gunther, she passed him by. There was no 
look of tenderness—but a fleeting glimmer of rage 
seemed to shake her beautiful body. She stopped as 
if she would strike him—and then walked proudly on 
as if he had never existed. And Gunther bowed his 
head at her slight. 

The chariot that was to bear her to the castle, drove 
off with her alone. The hum of the people became a 
low roar. When they saw Prince Gunther stride 
silently with his bodyguard toward the castle, they 
shouted in anger. Who was this woman to treat their 
beloved prince like a vassal? 

And so it was that Brynhild reached the portal of 
Giuki’s castle ahead of her lord. This was her wish. 
She desired to meet Siegfried without Gunther near. 
She must hurt him as he had hurt her. Gunther might 


THE RETURN OF GUNTHER 


3 2 5 


restrain her. No one must keep her from this one 
bitter act of retribution. 

When the portals swept open, Brynhild beheld a 
garden of brilliant flowers and a pavement of smooth 
blocks of marble. The castle stood like an immense 
cold fortress with its four towers mounting guard. 
The tall narrow windows made curious designs against 
the solid walls. A door of silver opened and she 
stepped into a huge hall with a high vaulted ceiling. 
In the center was a circular pool where ruby-colored 
fish swam and waxy flowers floated on the surface, 
trailing their green leaves like long strands of hair. 
The escort led the new queen to a narrow stairway. 
Brynhild followed its winding upward passage, her 
hands touching the cold stone walls as she made her 
way to the top. Another door—iron the color of 
ebony in a fantastic design of filagree—opened for her. 
She found herself in a vast cold room. She who had 
been accustomed to the crude walls of the northlands 
where pillars of living trees upheld the simple roofs, 
where fires burned on rugged hearths and the air was 
thick with smoke and the sound of rude laughter, 
beheld this arrogant hall of kings with a shiver of dis¬ 
taste. Her eyes swept the length of the walls and of 
the ceiling painted with stars. There were no dazzling 
shields. There were no richly colored hangings. In¬ 
stead, the cold loneliness of stone. At intervals there 
were deep recesses in the wall where thrones were 
built with silver steps leading to the level of the grey 
floor. And Brynhild saw in her first moment of con- 


326 


SIEGFRIED 


fused impression that a beautiful old man whose face 
was strong with a look of all-understanding, had come 
forward to greet her. The harsh words died on her 
lips. She had swept like a fury from the ship to Sieg¬ 
fried, but now her hate had vanished. As she looked 
at the deep sympathy and humanity in the face of 
King Giuki, she remembered suddenly that she had 
prophesied all that had come to pass. Siegfried had 
only followed the destiny of fate and of the cursed ring 
of Andvari. 

Those who had watched her since she entered the 
hall saw a miraculous change take place. They had 
seen her come—like a pale priestess bent upon unholy 
things. Siegfried had met her look of madness and 
grieved. He had caused this thing. But even as he 
watched, he saw her eyes close—her stern lips relax— 
her whole body droop as if in submission. The young 
Northman rejoiced. Anger had been unworthy of 
her. 

And Grimhild and Hagen watched—with jealous 
hearts. What had they accomplished by plotting to 
bring this woman of the furies to Burgundy? And 
young Guttorm looked at her adoringly. She was the 
most magnificent creature that he had ever seen. 

Gudrun watched—a childish despair surging 
through her. How could she keep what she loved 
when magnificent Brynhild was near. She looked 
quickly at Siegfried. His smile reassured her. But 
when the change came over Brynhild, when Gudrun 
saw the proud Valkyrie bow her head as if begging 


THE RETURN OF GUNTHER 


3 2 7 


forgiveness from Siegfried, the princess of Burgundy 
wept. She was woman enough to know that Bryn- 
hild was far more dangerous now than she had been 
before. 

Brynhild spoke first. She tossed back her gleaming 
hair as if its weight tormented her. She pushed it 
from her brow as if she were awakening from a dream. 
Then turning to Siegfried she said: “I have greeted the 
high men and women of Burgundy and now—my last 
greeting must be for you. Hail, Siegfried of the 
horned skin, son of the Volsungs, child of the 
Wanderer’s blessing, slayer of Fafnir, and keeper of the 
sword Gram. I pray that the same good fortune that 
has always given you what you willed, remains with 
you as long as you live on this earth.” 

The vast hall was silent. This was the kind of a 
thing that a woman said to her own lord and not to a 
stranger. Siegfried spoke—a strange fervor in his 
voice; and Gudrun knew that he walked in other ways 
and had forgotten her existence. 

“Hail, most exultant of women. Knower of all wis¬ 
dom, sufferer of every sorrow. Hail, wife of my 
brother Gunther. Let the peace that only the great¬ 
hearted can possess follow you to the end of all days.” 

When Gudrun heard these words and saw the glow 
of serene joy in Brynhild’s eyes, she buried her face in 
her slim hands. Well she knew that her own heart 
could never be peaceful. She was not wise enough to 
endure hurtful things well. As she wept softly, she 
heard the murmur of concern in Siegfried’s voice. She 


3*8 


SIEGFRIED 


was almost happy for a moment—almost happy until 
Brynhild spoke and put a strong hand on her shoulder. 

“But my dear child,” the voice said laughingly, 
“queens must not weep.” 

Gudrun ran wildly from the hall. Behind her she 
heard the amazed voice of her father and she under¬ 
stood the pain that Hagen suffered as he cried, “Sister 
—little sister.” But she could not stop. If she stayed 
she would burst into wild weeping—she would cry 
aloud her fears of Brynhild. At the door she ran 
blindly into Gunther who had just reached the castle, 
a weary and broken figure. 

“What have you done, Gunther?” Gudrun sobbed 
—“What woe have you brought to Burgundy?” 



It was night outside the castle. Within the halls 
strange shadows curvetted and danced as torches flared. 
Somewhere a minstrel sang—a haunting tune of love. 
High in a dim tower room, Gudrun lay on her couch, 
covered with a robe of turquoise blue, her soft curls 
buried in the golden pillows she leaned against. She 
looked very young and very sorrowful. At the win¬ 
dow gazing out into the midnight blue of the heavens, 
stood Siegfried. 

There was a long silence. And Gudrun thought: 
“I have lost him now—my tears that I cannot check 
have sent him away from me. He loves rather that 
super-woman who does not weep.” Suddenly she 


THE RETURN OF GUNTHER 


3 2 9 


heard him speak—and her heart beat so loudly she 
could scarcely listen. 

“Silly little princess—why do you weep? You who 
are as beautiful as a flower. You who should be as 
happy as a bird. Wherever your golden feet have 
danced, love has followed them. There is the love 
of an old king. It covers you like the warm rays of 
a faithful lamp. There is the love of your three 
brothers,—Gunther’s like a blessing, Guttorm’s like a 
gift, and Hagen’s, so great it must contain painful 
things as well as happy ones. There is the love that 
Horned Siegfried bears you. It has called forth every¬ 
thing that is gentle in him—every tenderness he has 
ever known. Let us think no more of Brynhild the 
exultant. She lives not in the same realm as we do, 
my Gudrun. Her very strength is her weakness. 
Some time she may need our love more than you do in 
your frailty.” 

Gudrun lay quietly. She did not understand what 
Siegfried was saying. But it soothed her—as pleasant 
words always soothed her. She was beautiful, he had 
said. She must needs be happy because so many 
hearts loved her. Perhaps the world was good to her 
after all. 

“Ah, then—I will try not to weep,” she said softly. 
“But there is ever a fearfulness within me, Siegfried. 
When I am glad—I must keep from being too happy 
lest some disaster come upon me. Even now, Sieg¬ 
fried, in the midst of reassurance, a doubt worries me.” 

“And what is that doubt,” Siegfried said to her 


330 


SIEGFRIED 


laughingly. “Come, little sorrow-searcher—what do 
you fear now?” 

With the air of a child who has seen a trinket she 
longs to have, yet fears to take, Gudrun drew forth the 
ring of Andvari from under the turquoise coverlet. “I 
found it in your tunic pocket,” she said. Siegfried 
started with an exclamation, and then, seeing her 
fright, took the ring and said: 

“Listen, and I will tell you its story.” 

He told it all—glad to have the burden off his mind. 
He described its history of hate and of misfortune. He 
told her how he had given the ring to Brynhild long 
before—defying its curse, and how now it was returned 
to him—still bearing that curse. 

“Hide the ring, little princess,” he said. “It can do 
no good to anyone, and should Brynhild ever discover 
that I had helped Gunther woo her and that it was 
I who removed this sign of power from her finger, she 
would never forgive any of us.” 

Gudrun was proud to have Siegfried’s confidence. 
She took the ring and hid it safely away. It was her 
secret shared with the noble Viking. 

“And now—you will be happy?” Siegfried teased 
her, rumpling her short silky hair and looking deep 
into her grave eyes. “Promise me, Gudrun, that there 
will be room for the four of us at Giuki’s court—Gun¬ 
ther and Brynhild, Siegfried and Gudrun. 

She almost yielded—but there was still something 
that kept her apart from him. 

“Tell me, Siegfried—how could you forget your 


THE RETURN OF GUNTHER 


33i 


pledge to Brynhild? How did you come to ask my 
father for my hand?” 

Then Siegfried could not bear to tell her of Grim- 
hild’s treacherous mead. He knew that she would 
never believe in him again if she learned that he had 
loved her only after he had seen her through a magic 
glass of gold. 

“Trust me, Gudrun—that is all that I can tell you,” 
he said. 

Then the Northman left her. He had small hope 
that she would be happy for long. Gudrun was one 
who had been destined to unhappiness. It was 
strange, thought Siegfried, how strong a person must 
be to know serenity. He remembered his own happi¬ 
ness—far back in the days when he roamed the forest 
and later when he had known the sheer joy of con¬ 
quering. He vowed that he would keep his spirit of 
gladness no matter what happened. Life was very 
beautiful—and there was a deeper radiance after 
sorrow had gone its way. 


Ghapter 

jm: 


T 


HE roses in Gudrun’s garden 


THE RING 
OF ANDVARI 


blossomed and faded and came to second blooming. 
The fields of grain turned golden and were cut down. 
Southward the shiny green of the forest was changed 
to russet brown. Dead leaves fell. A chilliness was 
in the air when the sun had set each night. So came 
the harvest time. 

There was peace in Burgundy and yet there was an 
air of unrest as if men waited for something. The 
superstitious stole very often to the temples. Those 
possessed of a wandering spirit found they could not 
stay in the city and took themselves off to far-away 
kingdoms. 

Clouds pressed low over the earth. At the court of 
Giuki a heavy sense of gloom pervaded the halls so 
that the minstrels ended their songs in silence. The 
whisperings of malicious gossip swept the court and 
travelled far beyond the castle walls. The entire 
populace soon knew all the secrets of the lives of their 
noblemen. 

There was no housewife of Burgundy who had not 
heard of the strange conduct of Brynhild, the wife of 
Gunther. How she had ordered the portals of the 
castle swung apart on many a moonlit night and had 


332 


THE RING OF ANDVARI 


333 


gone unattended out into the world of darkness. Cer¬ 
tain shepherds claimed to have seen her wandering on 
the hillsides near their flocks of snowy sheep. The 
king’s guards told of her hurrying through the gates 
with her dark robes sweeping behind her like wings. 
They told of a rushing sound in the air as the lonely 
Valkyrie walked on the earth and lifted her arms to 
the sky. And children awoke from their sleep, crying 
they had heard a new bird’s song in the night: 

“Hojotoho! Hojotoho! 

Heiaha! Heiaha! ” 

It was also told that each night in the tower room 
overlooking the garden of roses, the fair head of a 
woman shone at the casement in the moon’s light, and 
the sound of her gentle sobbing was heard in the court¬ 
yard below. 

The minstrels who sat in the hall of kings saw 
Hagen, the grim-hearted, become wiser each day. 
They heard him boast that whatever came to pass 
would not surprise him for the Norns had prophesied 
it. At the same time, the singers saw Gunther grow 
older and more troubled. Only Siegfried continued 
to look at the world with calm eyes and an untroubled 
countenance. Sometimes there was an expression of 
sympathy in his face that seemed born of a complete 
understanding. The minstrels imagined that Odin, 
the Allfather, of whom they sang, understood all 
humans as Siegfried understood the men of Burgundy. 

But there were certain things that the outside world 
did not know. How Gudrun who hated unhappiness 


334 


SIEGFRIED 


in others, clung to Siegfried asking: “Why has Bryn- 
hild’s joy departed? She walks like a woman of loneli¬ 
ness and she listens with the look of one lost in a 
dream.” 

“I do not know,” Siegfried answered, a momentary 
sadness in his eyes. 

“But why does she not love life when she has wealth 
and beauty and the praise of all mankind, as well as 
my dearest brother to call her own?” cried Gudrun. 

“Perhaps she sorrows because she can never ride 
with the Valkyries again,” said Siegfried. 

“Nay—but I do not believe it. I think that it con¬ 
cerns you, Siegfried. She looks at you so strangely. 
I shall ask her—I shall most certainly ask her,” cried 
Gudrun. 

“That I must beg you not to do,” said Siegfried 
sternly. “You will rue your words, my child, for 
Brynhild is stronger than you are and should she see 
some truth that lies beyond your understanding, she 
will not hold it from you. You will be hurt need¬ 
lessly.” 

“And that would be good for me,” teased Gudrun. 


But this time Siegfried did not smile, 

So Gudrun pretended to forget. But jealousy tor¬ 
mented her. She was curious to know more of 
Brynhild. 

The sight of Gudrun brought painful remembrances 


THE RING OF ANDVARI 


335 


to the Valkyrie. When she saw Gudrun’s golden hair 
that fit her head like a shining cap and the golden 
sandles upon her feet, she remembered that time when 
the little princess had come to Hlymdale to ask the 
Valkyrie to read a dream. Now that dream had come 
to pass—and it was still hard for Brynhild to believe 
it was so. 

There came a day when Gudrun and Brynhild sat 
in the tower room together and talked as one woman 
to another. It was a new experience for Brynhild. The 
Valkyries had always been afraid to be intimate with 
her. She remembered hearing the gay chatter of Hrist 
and Mist, and wondering what it was they found to 
be so merry about. Now—Gudrun talked—in that 
same breathless intense way about unimportant trifles. 
Brynhild found it very delightful. Gudrun stood on 
tiptoe, looking out of the window. 

“What do you think of those splendid new hats the 
guards are wearing,” she said, “aren’t they like strut¬ 
ting cocks though—how is it my father can always 
manage to make all his guards strut, I wonder?” 

Brynhild came slowly over to the window and 
looked out. Yes—it was true—what Gudrun had said 
about the guards. But she would never have thought 
of it herself. She tried to imagine what she would have 
seen if she had looked out of the window—perhaps the 
sky like an opal, and the air filled with drifting golden 
haze because it was a warm autumn day. 

“Brynhild—what did you really think when you 
found you could never ride with the Valkyries again? 


336 


SIEGFRIED 


Weren’t you excited at the thought of being a mortal 
for awhile?” Gudrun’s voice continued aimlessly. 

How incredibly her words hurt. Brynhild felt the 
shock of them—wounding her unbearably. She strug¬ 
gled to keep calm. So this was what women did to 
each other! 

“Your roses—Gudrun—have you ever seen anything 
so perfect?” Brynhild’s eyes sought the refuge of the 
open window again. She did not want Gudrun to 
look at her. 

“How strangely you look at the roses, Brynhild— 
rather like the way in which you look at Siegfried. 
Tell me—why do you look at Siegfried so unhappily?” 

Gudrun trembled at what she had said. Siegfried 
had told her not to speak of this thing. She was 
frightened when she looked at Brynhild. The Valkyrie 
had whirled from the window and stood with her 
proud head leaning back against the stone wall. Her 
hair glowed more coppery than ever before against the 
parchment of her face. When she opened her eyes, 
Gudrun saw they were black instead of grey. 

“You have asked me that with evil intent, Gudrun, 
for you have a cruel heart,” Brynhild’s words came 
stiffly from her lips. 

“What do you mean, Brynhild?” Gudrun was sorry 
now—sorry for what she had said. She held out her 
slender hands to embrace Brynhild—tears filled her 
soft eyes as she saw the strange look she had brought 
to the face of the Valkyrie. 

“You would hurt—and hurt again, little princess. 


THE RING OF ANDVARI 


337 


You are not content with your own happiness—you 
must insist upon the happiness of all who surround 
you. You wish your world to be a gentle peaceful land 
where everyone loves one another.” 

“Yes—that is what I wish,” Gudrun said. “And 
that is why I asked you to tell me of your unhappiness.” 

“Ask such things as are good for you to know,” 
Brynhild said wearily. “Matters that strong women 
may bear are not for you to hear.” 

Gudrun turned pale. 

“What ever do you mean, Brynhild? Are there 
secrets kept from me because I am not strong enough 
to hear them? I do not believe it. Siegfried has no 
secrets from me.” 

Gudrun’s words were filled with pride. She was 
thinking of the story of the wooing of Brynhild that 
Siegfried had told her. If he had shared so great a 
secret, what other would he keep hidden? 

When Brynhild heard this childish boast, a tremend¬ 
ous fury filled her. She who had been hurt by the 
thoughtless words of another, rose now to her own 
defense. 

“There is a secret that has been kept from you. It 
concerns Siegfried and yourself. How do you think, 
Gudrun, it came to pass that a son of the Volsungs, 
born of honor, should break his pledge with me and 
wed in Burgundy?” 

“What are you saying? I will not listen to you. You 
are a wicked war-maid,” cried Gudrun, covering her 
ears and turning to fly from the room. 


338 


SIEGFRIED 


Brynhild stopped her. She stood, barring the en¬ 
trance of the tower-chamber and her words fell hotly 
upon Gudrun. Nothing could stop this wild onslaught 
of confession now that it had begun. All the brooding 
that had lingered in the proud heart of the Valkyrie 
was torn forth. 

“Think you that Siegfried forgot Brynhild of his 
own self? Nay—nay—the world is not like that, little 
princess. Grimhild, your mother is the bane of all 
this. She was jealous of Hagen’s love for you and 
wished to put you beyond his reach by giving you to 
another. So she mixed a drink of magic for Horned 
Siegfried. When he drank of it, all memory of Bryn¬ 
hild vanished and he saw you with eyes of love.” 

“Ah—but it is a lie—a lie without measure,” sobbed 
Gudrun. “How do you know this thing?” 

“I know this thing as I know all,” Brynhild said 
bitterly, “the gods have thrown me away but they have 
not forgotten me. I am warned by the Valkyries—I 
am guarded by Heimdall—I am told all prophecies of 
the Norns.” 

Brynhild’s words were so certain, Gudrun was forced 
to believe them. In the agony of her hurt, she cried 
out what she had sworn she would never tell: 

“You do not know all things, Brynhild. There is 
something that no Valkyrie dares to breathe lest you 
destroy the bearer of the evil news. There is some¬ 
thing that is magic and the Norns dare not tell of it, 
and Heimdall sees it has already come to pass so it will 
do little good to warn you now.” 


THE RING OF ANDVARI 


339 


“You are pretending something—in order to hurt 
me further,” Brynhild said coldly. 

“No—no—I will tell you, and you will see that it 
had to be true,” cried Gudrun. 

“Tell me this thing. I do not fear your words, noth¬ 
ing further can hurt me,” said Brynhild. 

“Hear this then,” cried Gudrun, “and see if it does 
not hurt. It was Siegfried himself who rode through 
the hedge of fire and slaked the flames so that Gunther 
might come to you. It was Siegfried who wore a tarn- 
cap that rendered him invisible, and guided Gunther’s 
hand in the three games that he won from you. You 
have become the wife of a good man—but one who is 
neither stronger-bodied nor stronger-willed than you 
—and that was the boast you made known throughout 
the world.” 

Brynhild looked as if death had come to her. She 
was ashy grey and her eyes were empty of all life. 
In a flash she saw the explanation of all that had be¬ 
wildered her at Hindfell. Gudrun had been right 
when she said this thing had to be believed. But the 
Valkyrie was a helm-maiden who had battled and de¬ 
fended herself for a lifetime. She roused herself to 
defend her pride at this last moment when no defense 
seemed possible. 

“I will never believe it—” she said. “The ring of 
Andvari was taken from my finger by Gunther in the 
strife. It would not have yielded to him if Siegfried 
had done the battling.” 

“And who do you think has the ring of Andvari? 


34 o SIEGFRIED 

—not Gunther at all—but Siegfried,” Gudrun cried, 
beside herself with anger and hurt. 

“If this thing is so, show me the ring,” Brynhild 
whispered. 

“Let me past the door and I will get it,” Gudrun 
said. “Siegfried has given it to me to hide, saying it 
could do no good to anyone.” 

Brynhild hid her head as Gudrun ran from the 
room. Siegfried had been right—the accursed ring 
could do no good to anyone. When Gudrun returned 
with the gleaming gaud, Brynhild scarcely looked at 
it. She had known when she heard Gudrun’s words, 
that they were the truth. 


The Valkyrie lay as one dead. All Burgundy knew 
of her illness, yet none knew its cause, save the family 
of Giuki. When Gudrun had told all, she had rushed 
to her lord, throwing herself at the feet of Siegfried. 
She wept wildly—her golden head in his lap. His 
strong hands soothed her. 

“What is it, my child—what has frightened you?” 
he comforted. 

It was a long time before she could speak—and then 
she told him what she had done. She told him how 
Brynhild had hurt her first—and taken all her faith 
and trust away, and how afterwards she had betrayed 
the secret of Gunther’s wooing to the Valkyrie. 

When Siegfried heard this thing, he felt a great 
sadness come over him. He knew that the ring of 



When Gudrun returned with the gleaming gaud, Brynhild 
scarcely looked at it, for she kjiew the words were true 






. 














I 



' 

V - 



‘ 





THE RING OF ANDVARI 


34i 


Andvari had begun its mysterious spell. All who had 
touched it were marked with unhappiness. And Sieg¬ 
fried understood these things were beyond the power 
of mortals, so Gudrun must not be blamed for what 
she had done. He contented himself with saying 
gently: “There were things better left unsaid, little 
princess. This you have come to know this day.” 

And while Gudrun found comfort in Siegfried’s 
kindness, Brynhild lay on her dais, white and silent 
with Gunther kneeling beside her. 

“What is it—what new unhappiness is this?” cried 
Gunther in despair. Long had he endured the knowl¬ 
edge that the Valkyrie walked in sadness—but he could 
not endure this new suffering that had laid her low 
as in death. Long he pleaded with her before she 
spoke. At last her words came as if from a long way 
off, without bitterness, but cold with an edge of pain 
beyond her power to bear. 

“I promised to wed the one who rode through 
flaming fire and conquered me at the games I ordained. 
And one came to me—seemingly he slaked the fiery 
hedge. I saw him with my own eyes throw a boulder 
into a sapphire pool when my own boulder lay on the 
pool’s edge. I saw him spring through the air and pass 
over my head to a spot beyond me. I felt my shield 
shatter before his spear, and the ring that guarded me 
was taken from my hand. Now I have learned, Gun¬ 
ther, of the phantom one who was ever at your side, to 
bear the weight of your stone, to match the will of 
Brynhild. And I who swore I would wed him who 


SIEGFRIED 


342 

was stronger-bodied and stronger-willed than myself, 
find now I have broken my own vow. Ask you so 
great a thing as my forgiveness, Gunther, when you 
have wittingly done this thing to me?” 

Then the good Gunther bowed his head, knowing 
he had no right to ask her to forgive. It was even as 
she had said—he had done the thing purposely that 
hurt her. 

“Let me beg you only to be happy again,” he said 
gently. “I will give you anything you desire. You 
may go back to Hindfell with your Valkyries. You 
may go to Hlymdale with your foster-father. The 
land of Burgundy will never imprison you.” 

But all that Brynhild said was: “Never again will 
you see me glad in your halls. I shall never speak a 
word of kindness, never drink nor feast, never wear 
fair robes of gold, never give good counsel. Here will 
I lie—a sorrowing heart—until Siegfried is made to 
pay for his deed.” 

Then pleaded Gunther for his foster-brother, his 
much-loved Siegfried. 

“How can you blame him, fair Valkyrie. It was I 
who begged him to do this thing. You yourself have 
told Gudrun the reason he forgot his pledge to you. 
My mother’s mead is the cause of your woe—not Sieg¬ 
fried—not Gudrun—not Gunther.” 

“Away—away,” Brynhild moaned. “Blame not 
anyone save Siegfried,” and even as she said this thing 
she knew its wrong. Siegfried had been betrayed into 
this dishonorable deed. It had been no fault of his. 


THE RING OF ANDVARI 


343 


Throughout the castle echoed the wailings of the 
Valkyrie. At times she could be heard, calling her 
sister helm-maidens, calling her old battle-cry: 

“Hojotoho! Hojotoho ! 

Heiaha! Heiaha! ” 

At other times she was a woman—weeping, and the 
handmaidens who loved her, wept as well, saying that 
an evil day had come to Burgundy with such lamenta¬ 
tion as this. And so the days passed and her grief 
showed no lull though Gunther pleaded with her and 
even Guttorm, who admired her, came shyly to her 
side with his young words of pity and love. She 
yielded not in her proud-willed way, but lay silent or 
weeping, without speaking to anyone. 

Finally, Gudrun who forgot things easily, came to 
the door of Brynhild’s chamber, ready to beg forgive¬ 
ness and end the time of trouble. 

“Brynhild—sister-queen, awake and mingle again 
with the children of Giuki who love you,” said the 
gentle princess. 

The proud Valkyrie lay with her burnished hair 
outspread and her pale hands at her side. She seemed 
to hear naught of what Gudrun said. 

“Brynhild—let us all forgive each other. Let us 
defeat the ring of Andvari that strives to fill our lives 
with tragedy. Let Burgundy be a land of happiness 
again—with you and Gunther and Siegfried and me 
together.” 

For a long time Gudrun strove to rouse Brynhild. 
But never once did the Valkyrie answer nor give any 


344 


SIEGFRIED 


sign of hearing, and at last the little princess ran weep¬ 
ing from the room. 

“Siegfried,” she cried, “what have I done? She who 
was so beautiful lies like one who is dead. She who 
was so alive, does not speak nor give any sign of hear¬ 
ing. Go to her, Siegfried, perhaps you can give her 
comfort.” 

Then Siegfried went slowly to Brynhild. His head 
was bowed. At the door of her chamber, he stood for 
a moment watching her. She lay as if sleeping. If it 
had not been for the tortured expression on her face, 
she might have been that other sleeping Brynhild 
whom he had first found upon the mountain Hindfell. 

“Cast away your grief,” he said softly. “You are 
greater than grief.” 

“You dare to come to me,” she answered. 

“We are all under the spell of the ring,” Siegfried 
said wearily. “Will you remember that and think less 
harshly of what has befallen you?” 

“I will never forgive,” Brynhild said. 

“Gunther, the good knight, suffers even as you do,” 
Siegfried said sternly. “No nobler men are there than 
the sons of Giuki. Be glad that you are the wife of so 
fine a man.” 

“There are none as great as Horned Siegfried who 
slew Fafnir and rode Greyfell ever to victory,” she said 
bitterly. 

Then Siegfried, the mighty, pleaded with her. “Ah 
—live and love, Brynhild. Love Gunther and me 
withal! Remember how long ago on the mountain top 


THE RING OF ANDVARI 


345 


you told me we were not for each other. Then it was 
I who wept and raged and said that fate could not be 
so cruel. Then you were wise and knew that mortals 
cannot direct the ways of the gods. Yet now you strive 
bitterly to do that very thing.” 

“I will never forgive,” Brynhild answered. 

Then Siegfried went from her chamber. His heart 
swelled with grief. He stood alone in a great hall, his 
fists clenched, and his head bowed. For the first time 
in his life he knew defeat. 

While in the tower-room, the sorrowing Brynhild 
at last stirred and returned to life. But she came back 
—with hate in her heart and a bitterness beyond any¬ 
thing she had ever known. Turning to Gunther, she 
said: “In the castle of Giuki there has been an inter¬ 
weaving of three lives. Death shall result. And this 
shall be Siegfried’s death or my death by your hand. 
Even now Gudrun mocks me. Even now Burgundy 
laughs. Prepare to tell in a day’s time, Gunther, what 
shall be your decision. Siegfried or Brynhild—Bryn¬ 
hild or Siegfried—must die.” 


THE HUNT 


Chapter 

XXV 


N 


OW was Gunther torn be¬ 


tween his love for Siegfried, his blood-brother, and for 
Brynhild, the exultant. All through the night that 
Brynhild had given him to make his decision, he paced 
the courtyard of the castle. “Siegfried or Brynhild 
—Brynhild or Siegfried”—he could hear the words of 
the Valkyrie echoing on every side. When the birds 
sang they sang of the terrible choice he must make, 
when the guards on the walls struck their swords 
against the stone with a clang, it was as if they ordered 
the young Burgundian to his deed. 

How could he slay Siegfried? He remembered all 
their days of happiness together—how they had first 
encountered one another in the garden of roses, how 
Siegfried had saved Burgundy from the Danes and the 
Saxons, how they had traveled North-over-the-sea to¬ 
gether. He thought of the love his sister bore the son 
of the Volsungs. No—a hundred times no—Siegfried 
must not die. 

But then he must remember Brynhild, with her 
beautiful coppery hair and her true sea-grey eyes, with 
her splendid spirit and the strong tragic face he had 
grown to love so dearly. There had been much sorrow 
in her life. How bitter she was because she had been 


346 


THE HUNT 


347 


sent away from Valhalla for all time. How her heart 
must ache when she heard the rushing sound of the 
helm-maidens riding through the clouds. What poor 
men mortals must seem to her beside the gods. Gun¬ 
ther longed more than anything in life to see peace 
come to her brooding mind. How could he slay 
Brynhild? 

And yet she had said that his hand must strike down 
one of them—Siegfried or herself. Gunther knew that 
this was not the threat of an angry woman. Brynhild 
believed what she said. The young Burgundian cov¬ 
ered his face with his hands and wished that he might 
weep. When dawn came, he had decided. Brynhild 
must not be the one to die. 

In the pale light of morning, Hagen came that way, 
stopping to look scornfully at the bowed head of his 
brother. 

“So the gloom of the ladies has influenced the men 
of Burgundy too,” mocked the grim-hearted one as 
he passed by. 

He continued his way again, but suddenly he heard 
Gunther’s voice calling him. 

“Hagen—I would speak with you.” 

Hagen came slowly to the stone bench where 
Gunther sat. 

“What is it?” he said. 

“Brynhild has ordered the death of Siegfried,” 
Gunther said in a low voice. 

Hagen’s eyes gleamed from beneath his shaggy 
brows. Vengeance at last! Horned Siegfried who 


348 


SIEGFRIED 


had come among the Burgundians and captured their 
little princess would pay for this deed. Hagen’s jeal¬ 
ousy was like a madness, blinding him from the truth. 
As always he saw Siegfried in the light of a robber 
and nothing else. 

“And you will slay him—how?” Hagen asked. 

“I cannot slay him,” Gunther moaned. “We swore 
blood-brothership beneath the garland of turf. Such 
an oath cannot be broken. I would kill myself rather 
than Siegfried.” 

“Then you wish—another to slay him?” Hagen said, 
with a curious light in his eyes. 

“I wish—him to be slain,” Gunther said. 

Hagen thought for a moment. Then, reaching out 
his hand, he touched Gunther. 

“Rouse yourself and listen to me. The son of the 
Volsungs shall die. He cannot live in happiness when 
he has caused so much sadness in our midst. Call a 
hunt for the morrow and I will arrange the rest. 
There have been many accidents on hunting expedi¬ 
tions, brother—wild boars can stab with their tusks as 
well as spears with their points. Many a hero who is 
clever enough to protect himself in battle, forgets to 
be cautious during the chase.” 

“But Siegfried has a horned skin that saves him,” 
Gunther cried—grasping at one last hope that his 
foster-brother could not be killed. 

“Invulnerable in every spot save one—the minstrels 
sing of a linden leaf that fell between his shoulders and 
kept that spot clean of the dragon’s blood. Fear not, 


THE HUNT 


349 


Gunther, I will arrange everything—e x7 en to discover¬ 
ing the exact place where the Viking is vulnerable.” 

Gunther rose, and still with bent head, walked 
toward the castle. 

“Do not forget,” he heard Hagen’s voice say clearly 
—“a hunt in the black forests starting at dawn of the 
morrow.” 


All day the castle rang with the preparations for the 
hunt. The pall of gloom that had hung over Burgundy 
since the coming of Brynhild, was lifted. Champions 
and knights rejoiced that Gunther had brought an end 
to grief and given them the right to enjoy themselves 
again. They polished their spears and sharpened their 
arrow-heads. The horses were made ready and the 
dogs chosen. Ahead of the hunting party that was to 
leave on the morrow, went the vassals with sumpters 
laden with fellowship bread and wine, meat and fish. 
A feast would be awaiting Gunther and his knights. 

Those who listened for Brynhild’s weeping, heard 
no sound. They were happy, thinking she had for¬ 
given and that the hunt was Gunther’s gesture of 
thankfulness. Only Gunther knew that the Valkyrie 
lay as if turned to stone, waiting for the deed of death 
she had ordered. 

Siegfried glowed with high spirits. He hurried 
about the castle, giving orders for the preparations of 
the boar-spears, summoning the lads who took care of 
the horses for their last instructions, and rushing down 


350 


SIEGFRIED 


to the stables himself to see that Greyfell was fed and 
curried. 

“Ah, my beauty—,” he caressed the sensitive horse, 
“it is long since we rode for the sheer joy of one 
another’s company. No fiery hedge, this time, my 
steed! No endless galley journey to torment you! But 
the cool woods and the sparkling streams, the thrill 
of barking dogs and hunted beasts,—ready, my good 
horse! ” 

While Siegfried went about his joyous tasks, Gudrun 
walked sadly in her rose garden. How she hated to be 
left alone. The world always seemed a frightening 
place when Siegfried was away. The endless masses 
of roses blurred through her tears. It was here that 
Hagen, the grim-hearted came to her. His eyes were 
feverish with restlessness. His plans were fully made 
for the morrow. As he saw his fair sister weeping in 
the garden, he felt relief and new fervor shake him. 
Fondly he remembered how happy Gudrun had been 
in the days when she had loved only her three brothers. 
Burgundy would see again their glad princess. The 
court of King Giuki would be as it had been before 
Horned Siegfried came that way. 

“Do not weep, little sister,” Hagen said. 

“Ah, dear Hagen, I cannot help but weep. Some¬ 
how I fear this hunt tomorrow. Siegfried laughs at 
me, saying—how like a woman to find dread in the 
simplest event. I suppose I am very silly, but I cannot 
help being frightened.” 

Hagen’s eyes glowed more intensely than ever. He 


THE HUNT 


35i 


said craftily, “Nay—you are right to be afraid. It is 
a woman’s instinct, I suppose.” 

“What do you mean, brother?” Gudrun’s eyes were 
wide with anxiety, “what harm can come to Siegfried 
during a hunt?” 

Then Hagen looked about him and saw that no one 
was near. He came close to Gudrun as if he were 
disclosing some valued secret. 

“I will tell you the truth, little sister. Tomorrow is 
not really a hunt. The Saxons have broken their word 
and are marching toward Burgundy. We go to battle 
and not to sport. None know of this thing else all 
Burgundy would flee. The soldiers are tired of fight¬ 
ing and we fear they would desert our father in the 
time of need.” 

“Oh—Hagen—can this be the truth you tell?” Gud¬ 
run’s trembling hands clung to her brother’s arms. 
“There will be danger, then, for Siegfried?” 

“No, not really,” Hagen pretended to soothe her. 
“The Horned Siegfried is protected by his invulnerable 
skin. No weapon can pierce him.” 

“But there is one spot—where a linden leaf fell— 
there may he be wounded. It would be the way of 
fate to lead some spear-head to the very place,” wept 
Gudrun. 

“Ah—that is serious,” Hagen said. “Tell me, Gud¬ 
run, would you like me to be Siegfried’s guard. I will 
follow him on foot, on horse, wherever he goes, and 
keep ever between the vulnerable spot and any chance 
weapon.” 


352 


SIEGFRIED 


“Dear brother—I knew that you would help me,” 
Gudrun wept softly, “ever you have taken care of 
me, since I was a small maid and feared to ride a horse 
or go sailing on the Rhine.” 

“But there must be some way for me to tell the exact 
spot,” said Hagen slyly, “else how can I be sure that I 
am guarding him well.” 

“That is easy,” she said with the imperious gesture 
of a woman attending to matters that man cannot 
possibly understand. “I will sew, with a fine scarlet 
silk, a secret cross upon his vesture. There between his 
shoulder blades, the bit of thread will mark the spot of 
fatality for Siegfried. There, dear Hagen, your hand 
must ever be near to guard my husband as he goes to 
battle.” 

“For this wise thought of yours, Gudrun, Siegfried 
will be saved,” Hagen said. “Only this remember—no 
word of the war with the Saxons must be breathed 
—not even to Siegfried. Once before have you bro¬ 
ken your word, little princess. You have seen what 
woe was caused by the telling of the secret of the ring. 
Guard your lips well this time. No one must suspect 
it is not a hunt we start upon tomorrow. Great 
trouble will befall us if it is discovered.” 

Gudrun promised this should be so. And Hagen, 
the betrayer of Siegfried, left her with the knowledge 
that a scarlet cross would mark the place where a 
sword’s point must thrust. 


THE HUNT 


353 


At dawn the horns could be heard blowing through¬ 
out the city. From all sides the cohorts gathered. 
They might have been going to war save for the 
general air of comradeship and merriment that per¬ 
vaded the company. Outside the walls of the castle, 
they awaited the coming of their princes. 

In the courtyard of Giuki’s household, the steeds 
pranced impatiently. First came Hagen, gloomy as 
ever, bearing a great spear which he studied from 
beneath his shaggy brows. He mounted a black 
charger and stood motionless, waiting for his brothers. 
Gunther and Guttorm came together. Guttorm was 
radiant in his youthful way. 

“I had thought that all good sport was dead in 
Burgundy,” he laughed, as he swung himself up on his 
chestnut horse. “Praise the gods for a good chance at 
hunting again. The baying of the hounds and the 
blowing of the horns make my blood tingle, in truth. 
Why aren’t you gay, Gunther? It’s a gay day and a 
gay venture lies before us.” 

Gunther smiled in answer but there was no happi¬ 
ness in his eyes. Once he looked toward Hagen as if 
he would speak, but he saw his brother shake his head 
imperceptibly so he turned away. 

“Where is Siegfried?” several voices cried. 

“Here he comes,” the answer sounded, and the doors 
swung open for King Giuki and the Viking to come 
forth. 

The King smiled upon his people. No one knew 
how much he rejoiced that life had returned to his 


3 54 


SIEGFRIED 


court. He made a splendid picture, standing in the 
pale light of the dawn—his royal robes gleaming with 
fine embroideries of gold and a jeweled staff in his 
hand. Beside him, Siegfried seemed like a strong 
young creature of the woods and the open. It had 
pleased him to think of another Forest on this day 
when he set forth to hunt in the woods of the Rhine- 
lands. And so he had dressed himself as that Siegfried 
of old, with a tunic of skin and leggings of hide, and 
the sword Gram at his side. His golden-brown body 
gleamed in rugged beauty. Many glances of envy 
were cast upon him. 

Just as the horns blew again, the note that summoned 
the hunters,—just as Siegfried turned to bid good-by 
to the King, the door was suddenly thrown wide again 
and they all turned to see the fragile figure of Gudrun 
standing there. Her golden hair was blown into a 
mass of curls and her long robe made her seem even 
smaller than she really was. She ran straight into 
Siegfried’s arms, crying: 

“Siegfried you must not go—stay from the hunting. 
I awoke from an evil dream. Two wild boars chased 
you across the heath and then the flowers grew red. Do 
not go, my dear lord.” 

Siegfried held her closely, saying tenderly: “Dear 
child, I will come back in a few short days. The hunt 
means the beginning of peace and kindness again in 
our land—and not the sorrow of new grief. Courage, 
my little princess.” 

“No—no, you must remain, Siegfried. I dreamed 


THE HUNT 


355 


how two mountains fell upon you. I could not find 
you again. You were gone from me.” 

“But here I am—and you have seen me again, after 
all,” laughed Siegfried. Then drying her tears, he 
kissed her, saying: “Remember—a princess may not 
weep. Now I am off—hurry to the tower-room that 
I may see your shining hair from a long way as I turn 
to look for you. And remember these words to com¬ 
fort you, my princess. Only the doomed shall die.” 

When Siegfried bent to kiss Gudrun, Hagen, the 
grim-hearted saw that a small piece of gleaming scarlet 
was marked on the skin tunic he wore. 

And so the hunt began—forth from the courtyard of 
the King the horses galloped. The furious barking of 
the dogs,—the excited shouting of the men—the horns 
—ever-blowing—these were the sounds that reached 
Brynhild as she lay waiting for the doom of Siegfried. 


Chapter A 

jm /\ 


THE DEATH OF 
SIEGFRIED 


ND now the hunters had 


reached the gloom-ridden woods. They galloped 
along dark aisles where the foliage arched above their 
heads to keep out the sun. They came to a halt be¬ 
fore a stretch of glade which they decided should be 
the game-course. The hunting fellowship gathered 
in a circle and Gunther, the leader said: 

“Who shall lead the chase and find the game within 
the wood?” 

“Siegfried,” came the shout from all sides. 

But Hagen stepped forward, lifting his hand for 
silence. “Let us part,” he said, “before we begin the 
chase. Thereby my lords, we may let the best hunter 
in our midst prove himself on this woodland venture. 
We will divide men and hounds and let each turn 
where he wishes. The best hunter will be made known 
by the game he slays.” 

This pleased the hunters, as it did Siegfried. There 
were ever more joy in a contest than in a simple chase. 
Siegfried cried merrily: “I need no dogs save one brach 
that is trained so he can tell the track of the beasts 
through the pine woods. We’ll find the game! ” 

Then an old huntsman gave the Northman a good 
sleuth-hound and soon Siegfried was led to the lair of 


356 


THE DEATH OF SIEGFRIED 


357 


the wild beasts. Whatever the brach started to attack, 
Siegfried slew with his own hand. Greyfell was so far 
ahead of the other huntsmen that Horned Siegfried 
reached the prey first in every case. And so he gained 
the prizes they all sought—slaying the mightiest of 
boars with his bare hands. Not content, he went deeper 
into the forest. He slew a bison and an elk, and four 
strong ure-oxen and a savage deer. Greyfell seemed 
to fly over the rough ground so that neither hart nor 
hind could escape. 

At high-noon, Siegfried heard the calls of men and 
the loud blowing of horns and he rode toward the place 
where the hunters had made camp. Greyfell was hung 
with the bodies of game that Siegfried had slain. Only 
such a steed as this horse of Odin could have borne the 
burden. 

When the Viking came riding to the glen where the 
Burgundians had gathered for their feasting, he was 
welcomed by loud cries of wonder. The dogs strained 
at their leashes—the baying of the hounds was a 
mournful cry of desire. The other hunters had cap¬ 
tured a few boars but their combined game did not 
equal what Siegfried brought. 

In the shouts of good-will, no one noticed that 
Hagen was silent. His plan to get Siegfried off by 
himself so that no one would see his slaying, had failed. 
Hagen, the grim-hearted had been no more able to 
keep up to Greyfell than the fleet deer in the forest. 
While the vassals made ready the fires to cook the game 
and those servants who had come ahead of the hunts- 


358 


SIEGFRIED 


men unpacked the baskets of wine, Hagen sat brooding 
over some way in which to outwit the clever and 
courageous Northman. 

So the hunting fellowship tables were made ready. 
Rich viands were set before the goodly company. The 
dogs yelped joyfully at the bones that were tossed 
them. Laughingly the huntsmen joked: “By the end 
of another day’s hunting, our hills and w 7 oods will be 
empty of wild beasts if Siegfried and Greyfell and 
Gram do not part company.” 

During the feast, Gunther fell silent. He had seen 
Hagen’s brooding and knew that it boded little good 
for Siegfried. During the morning’s hunt, the good 
prince had forgotten the evil the day held. As he ran 
with the packs to the sound of the gay horns, he had 
been happy. It had all seemed like the days before he 
and Siegfried had gone to the Northlands. But now 
that the excitement of the chase was stilled for awhile, 
fear gripped his heart again. He wondered what plan 
Hagen harbored in his grim mind. 

Thus Gunther turned cold with foreboding when 
Hagen looked up after he had done feasting and 
addressed Siegfried thus: 

“Well, Siegfried—now that you have won your 
place as champion huntsmen, do you care to try another 
contest?” 

“You may always invite me to a game,” laughed 
Siegfried. “What is it, Hagen? Name the sport.” 

“I have often been told that Gudrun’s husband is the 
fastest runner in the land. I know a cool spring some 


THE DEATH OF SIEGFRIED 


359 


distance hence. I will race you to the spring—drink 
from it—and race you back to the glen. Men shall 
judge who outpaces the other.” 

“That suits my spirit well,” laughed Siegfried, “and 
let us race with all our hunting garb on and our swords 
at our sides that the contest will have some hardship 
about it and not be a simple test of running,” cried 
the Viking. 

This was what Hagen wished—for there was need 
of a weapon beside the spring if his plan succeeded. 

The men of Burgundy rejoiced in the sight of the 
two runners making ready for the start. What a day 
for sport, it was—and how great a man was Horned 
Siegfried! They had little doubt who would be the 
victor in the race. 

Like two wild panthers, the runners leaped to the 
start. The Burgundians saw them run down the aisle 
between two rows of giant trees. Then as they were 
lost in the leafy glade, they caught a glimpse of Hagen 
falling behind. They smiled, knowing what the out¬ 
come of the race would be. Only Gunther did not join 
in their laughter. He sat with his head on his hands 
—in an attitude of listening. 

Now in the forest, the race neared the half-way goal. 
Siegfried followed the track that Gunther had pointed 
out to him, running with the ease of a high-spirited 
and graceful colt. Behind him, he could hear the 
heavy breathing of Hagen. With the spring in sight, 
Siegfried spurted that he might drink first and be well 
on his way back before Hagen drank. 


36° 


SIEGFRIED 


But when Siegfried bent his head to the cool gushing 
water, the taste of the icy stream was good and he 
tarried to drink a little longer, knowing the victory was 
his no matter if Hagen caught up with him. And thus 
he bent to the refreshing spring, careless and happy and 
unaware of the shadow that stood over him. 

When Hagen came to the stream, he did not hesitate 
to do his cruel deed. Unsheathing his sword, he saw 
where the mark of scarlet thread gleamed on the skin 
tunic Siegfried wore, and unerringly plunged the 
sword’s point in the spot where a linden leaf had once 
fallen. 

There was a terrible cry in the glade where the 
spring flowed. There was a blinding ray of light and 
a tremendous shattering sound. Hagen stood trans¬ 
fixed ! He saw Siegfried rear up from the stream with 
a wild look upon him. The Northman was suddenly 
bathed in a shaft of golden light like a flame. And 
before his eyes, the Burgundian saw a miracle take 
place. The sword Gram at Siegfried’s side was touched 
by the shaft of sunny fire. It fell to the ground— 
shattered in two. Siegfried looked at it with under¬ 
standing. Hagen heard him murmur as he fell by the 
stream: “Even as no man but the bravest man shall 
touch Gram, so the Wanderer shatters the sword as 
Siegfried dies.” 

Hagen turned and fled wildly—he ran as if a pack 
of hungry wolves pursued him. Fear beyond anything 
in the life of man, tortured him. As he left the glade, 
he heard the baying of hounds and the frightened cries 



Unsheathing his sword, he saw where the mar\ of scarlet 
thread gleamed on the s\in tunic Siegfried wore 


















. 























' 















THE DEATH OF SIEGFRIED 


361 


of men as they rushed to see what had caused that 
unearthly sound beside the spring. 

Siegfried lay among the flowers of Gudrun’s dream 
—red flowers. He looked at Gunther who bent over 
him with peaceful eyes. The men of Bungundy hud¬ 
dled in groups near the two blood-brothers. They 
heard Gunther speak first: “Siegfried—what has 
happened? Brother, you are much hurt.” Siegfried 
looked sadly at Gunther, and the Burgundian bowed 
his head. 

“Siegfried—forgive. You know all that has come 
to pass. I cannot pretend before your clear gaze.” 

“Do not grieve, Gunther. The ring of Andvari had 
its way. And see—perhaps it was Odin’s way as 
well. The sword Gram lies shattered at my side. Even 
so it was shattered once before when Siegmund, the 
brave Volsung, was called to death by the three Norns. 
This hour marks my summons to depart. I go with 
laughter as all warriors go. One favor alone I cry, 
Gunther. Take the shards of the sword back from 
whence they came. Sail North-over-the-sea to the 
court of Hjalprek. There Hjordis, the lovely, will 
wrap the cold steel in her scarf of silk and the broken 
blades of Gram will lie like a stiff spine in a yielding 
body until one who is brave and unafraid uncovers 
it. And this other thing, may I ask, good Gunther. 
That no one at the court of Giuki be told of Hagen’s 
deed. Let little Gudrun think it was the thrust of a 
wild boar that killed Siegfried. Let the good King 
think it was an accident of the hunt. Even the jealous 


362 


SIEGFRIED 


Grimhild must live in ignorance of her son’s deed. 
Promise me, Gunther, these things shall be so.” 

Gunther promised in a voice so low that none but 
Siegfried heard. There was a sudden gloom in the 
wood. All sunlight died. “Brynhild,” Siegfried cried, 
“follow me—the Wanderer leads the way—you may 
walk with the gods again! ” 


Late that night, the hunt returned to Burgundy. The 
voices of men were stilled, but nothing could quiet the 
frenzied baying of the hounds. In the castle of Giuki, 
torches flared in the dark. A sense of disaster filled 
every heart. Why did the hunters return so soon? 
Some dread thing must have happened. Nearer and 
nearer came the sound of the dogs and the hurrying 
feet of men. The castle gates were flung wide—a crude 
wagon was driven through. 

In the moonlit courtyard, the procession stopped. 
There was a clattering on the stones, a beating at the 
doors, and a cry for torches. In opposite towers of the 
castle, two women flung wide the casements. They 
looked down at the confusion below. At the same 
moment, they cried aloud—the torches had shown the 
pale face and the golden tossed hair of Siegfried. He 
lay on the rough cart as if he were asleep. And he did 
not answer their cry. 

Suddenly, the silent huntsmen broke into a loud 
wailing. The baying hounds howled like ravening 
wolves. Horned Siegfried was dead. 


Ghaptet 

M 


U 


THE DEATH FIRE 


NDER the open sky, a great 
pyre was raised. Here were the sturdy logs of the 
forest trees, the piled up faggots for the death fire. 
Siegfried lay upon them—as if he had stretched out on 
the earth beneath the soft clouds to rest. It had been 
decreed by King Giuki that the son of the Volsungs 
should be buried according to the way of the North¬ 
lands. Wearing the rough dress he had chosen for 
the hunt, he might have been that same sturdy son of 
the Forest Mimir had known. At his side were his 
possessions so that when the Valkyries carried him 
away, he would not go ill-attended and arrayed to 
Valhalla. The golden hauberk wrought by the 
clever Nibelungs gleamed and the fateful ring of 
Andvari shone in a silver casket. These things were 
from the great hoard that Siegfried had rightfully won 
from Fafnir. 

Processions of people walked near to where the 
death-fire was to burn. They came—fearfully at first 
—for it seemed to them the ending of Siegfried had 
been ill-timed and they thought the gods had willed it 
so. When they saw the fair hero, they forgot their fear 
and wept softly. Their weeping sounded the day long 
—as ceaseless as rain falling. There was a sorrowful 


363 



3 6 4 


SIEGFRIED 


murmuring throughout Burgundy as if a soft summer 
wind went crying about the roofs of the houses. 

Night came, a drifting twilight that changed to a 
moonless darkness. Torchbearers surrounded the pyre 
and the face of Siegfried shone in the pale flickering 
light. There came to the pyre, Giuki, King of Bur¬ 
gundy followed by his sons and his daughter, Gudrun. 
And they wondered why Brynhild the exultant was 
not with the others, even as Gunther wondered why the 
Valkyrie wept on her couch at what had come to pass, 
since she had asked this thing. 

Before the death-fire was lighted, Gudrun the wife 
of Siegfried and princess of the rose-garden, knelt at 
the pyre to lament the death of Siegfried. Men 
marvelled at what they saw. Gudrun drew near the 
pyre silently. She who had wept for the living, could 
not weep for the dead. The watchers saw that she did 
not sigh nor smite her hands against her breast as other 
sorrowing women were wont to do. The weeping of 
Gudrun was hushed by the shock of the dread thing 
that had come to her. Great-hearted queens of the 
court came forward to comfort her, telling her of their 
griefs. Spoke the beautiful widow Giaflaug: 

“Lo, upon earth I live most loveless. Weep that your 
heart may not break.” 

But Gudrun was still silent. 

Then spoke Herborg, a queen of Hunland: 

“A crueller tale I have to tell of my seven sons and 
the eighth man, my mate, who were felled by a death- 
mead in the southlands. Alone must I sing over them, 


THE DEATH FIRE 


3<>5 

alone must I array them, alone must my hands deal 
with their departing. And all this was in one season’s 
wearing. There was none left to solace me.” 

But Gudrun, dreadful-hearted as she looked at 
Siegfried lying dead, could not weep. 

Then suddenly, Gudrun looked up to see Brynhild 
standing in the shadow. There was the look about her 
of a dream-woman, walking in mist. She was all 
radiance—her burnished hair, her luminous eyes of 
love, the silvery gleaming of her garments. When 
Gudrun saw her she knew that Brynhild was the one 
to lament, for the body of the Valkyrie seemed stricken 
with grief. But the princess who had kept him from 
Brynhild in life would not relinquish him now. 

Bowing her head, Gudrun wept and sang her 
lament: 


“Such was my Siegfried 
Among the sons of Giukj, 
As is the king lee\ 

O'er the low grass waxing, 
Or a bright stone 
Strung on band, 

Or a pearl of price 
On a prince s brow . 

“Once was I counted 
By the king's warriors 
Higher than any 
Of Herjan's mays; 


3 66 


SIEGFRIED 


Now am I as little 
As the leaf may be, 

Amid wind-swept wood 
Now when dead he lieth . 

“Ah, in the days by-gone 
Great mirth in the homefield 
When my Siegfried 
Set saddle on Greyfell, 

And they went their ways 
For the wooing of Brynhild! 

An ill day, an ill woman, 

And most ill hap! n 

At that moment the torch-bearers swept their brands 
down to the faggots of the pyre. There was a burst of 
great flame. As the people watched—stunned into 
silence—as Gudrun drew back from the fire, scorched 
by its heat—there came a tremendous pounding of 
horse’s hoofs. The watchers looked with frightened 
eyes to see what bold steed rode on hallowed ground. 

Out of the night galloped Greyfell, a rider upon his 
back. The rider sang a song as the wind blew her 
burnished hair and her silvery garments. Brynhild, the 
Valkyrie, rode to her slain hero. If she could not ride 
as a sky-maid, she would ride as an earth-maid. She 
would ride with Siegfried to Valhalla! 

They saw the fearless Greyfell plunge straightway 
into the death-fire. For a moment the flames seemed 
to part as if they dared not touch Brynhild, the 


THE DEATH FIRE 


367 


glorious. And then there was a high-flung peak of fire 
that seemed to ascend high up into the sky. It burned 
with a dull roaring. 

The men of Burgundy stood awed by the sight. 
Gudrun, the daughter of Giuki, remembered the look 
of Brynhild as she rode to join Siegfried. She had 
worn an expression of joyous courage and deep-abiding 
love. Gunther remembered the look of the horse 
Greyfell—the quivering nostrils, the high-prancing 
feet. It had been the picture of a horse riding to 
victory. 

At last the Burgundians heard the sound they had 
been waiting for—the rushing of the Valkyries. And 
they saw the phantom shapes of high-helmeted 
maidens come riding with blood dripping from their 
spear-points and ravens crying about their heads. And 
a great wailing and weeping arose among the people 
for the passing of Horned Siegfried and Brynhild the 
exultant. A long sorrowing echoed the cry of the 
Valkyries as they rode out of sight bearing the doomed 
ones: “Hojotohol Hojotoho! Heiaha! Heiaha! 
Heiaha!" 


Qkapter 

XXHOU 



NORTH-OVER-THE 

-SEA 

ORTH-OVER-THE-SEA 


sailed a dragon ship, bearing the shards of the sword 
Gram. No matter how wildly the wind blew and 
the waves tossed, the ship held its course. It fared 
where mountains of ice rose out of the sea, and a Forest 
loomed at the world’s end. And though the vessel 
was nearly broken by the force of the storm, no chap¬ 
man knelt in prayer on its decks and no oarsman cried 
out to the gods. Those who sailed the ship that car¬ 
ried the sword of the Volsungs back to the Northlands 
knew they would reach their port, for a One-Eyed 
Wanderer guided their way. 



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